


Red Lights

by rufeepeach



Series: Red Lights [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle Christmas in July, Woobie Gold, escort AU, hooker!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 06:26:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7563763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufeepeach/pseuds/rufeepeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For forty-five years, Isaac Gold has waited to be married to the right woman before becoming intimate. However, facing an annulled marriage and a future of isolation and emptiness, his wife run off with a man capable of satisfying her, he finds himself at breaking point. If he can't have the love and companionship he dreamed of, he figures he can at least lose his virginity to someone paid not to scorn or laugh at him. An escort agency in Boston promises a happy ending, for a price, and in his desperation he books a night with Lacey, an escort recommended for nervous, first-time clients. </p><p>Gold walks into his hotel expecting a terrifying professional with a mouth full of insincere compliments and low expectations. The woman he meets is someone else entirely: kind, intelligent, forthright and brilliant. She might even be the woman of his dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyBookwormWithTeeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBookwormWithTeeth/gifts).



> My Rumbelle Christmas in July gift for the lovely LadyBookwormWithTeeth, which sort of got away from me (did not expect a novella here, nope). The prompt was 'virgin Gold, waiting for marriage'. I sort of bent the prompt a little, but I hope you like it all the same!
> 
> Disclaimer: this is Rumbelle, not Golden Lace - Belle is using Lacey as a pseudonym.

Isaac Gold was afraid of a great many things.

Top of his list were his father (deceased, but alive and well most nights in his nightmares), heights, crowds, and rejection of any sort. Icy patches on roads made him break out in a sweat; the prospect of sunburn kept him inside throughout the summer months. On a good day, he was cautious to the point of paralysis. Today was not a good day.

Two sheets of paper lay on his kitchen table, each more frightening than Gold could have imagined. The first was a thick piece of high-quality parchment, the seal of the State of Maine emblazoned on the top. The other was little more than a scrap of paper with a string of numbers scrawled across it.

His wife would laugh at him for his fear, but then Mila was long gone, wasn’t she? That was why he was in this ignominious position, staring down his official certificate of annulment on the one hand and the number for an escort service on the other.

Gold sank into his dining room chair with a heavy sigh. This was it, then. This was what rock bottom felt like.

He considered taking the phone number and screwing it into a little ball, hurling it into his waste bin and forgetting the whole sorry idea. Only the presence of the other sheet, as formal and forbidding as the other was inconspicuous and casual, prevented him from doing just that.

He read the words again, bracing himself for the wave of sickness and horror that always accompanied them, however familiar they had now become.

_  
This is to certify that the marriage between_

**_Isaac Robert Gold_ **

_And_

**_Mila Joanne Carpenter_ **

_Is hereby annulled by reason of: **non-consummation**._

  
Gold was used to being humiliated. He spent his days in a state of near-perpetual embarrassment simply by virtue of existing. He barely disguised this natural nervousness behind a mask of aloof disdain. He tried to pass off his lack of friends or family as self-imposed, haughty solitude; his fear of strangers and crowded spaces as disdain for his fellow man. In this way, he had painstakingly cultivated the fearsome persona of Mr Gold, landlord and loan shark, behind which shaking, terrified Isaac could cower and hide.

Regardless of reputation, inside he knew he was still the same pathetic, cripplingly shy wreck of a man he had been when he had first left Glasgow. He knew it was only a matter of time before Storybrooke learned the truth as well as Mila had. They would sneer at him in the streets out of pity and disgust, they would undermine his business and snicker behind their hands. Worse, they would hate him for taking up their space, for breathing their air. He thanked whatever God was listening every day that they overlooked the coward in their midst.

The price of their granting such a wide, fearful berth was perpetual solitude. It had been this way since his son had left for college nearly a decade ago, save for summers and Christmas breaks. He woke up alone, ate breakfast in a silent kitchen, worked his day in solitude broken only by the occasional uncomfortable customer, and returned home to a dark, empty house for supper and sleep. it had been that constant isolation that had prompted him two years ago to start ‘putting himself out there’, looking for love of all things, and ask Mila to dinner. After all, Neal was no longer the angry ten-year-old Gold had first taken in, in desperate need of a home and a family. He was a college graduate, he was married, and he now had a child on the way. While he visited often and called at least once a week, it was no substitute for daily conversation.

Before Mila, Gold had known he was in danger of allowing himself to become completely isolated from the outside world. He had reached a place in which he was capable of going whole days without saying a word to anyone, and while the thought of allowing someone new into his life had terrified him, his loneliness had overpowered his fear.

This was what he had to show for that forced, uncomfortable act of bravery: an annulment for non-consummation, a now-ex-wife run off to California with a younger man, and the knowledge that – once the truth was known – even the modicum of fearful respect he’d built in Storybrooke would be lost along with his marriage. He was back to square one, older but likely none the wiser, and still all alone.

Mila wasn’t alone of course, oh no. She had made that perfectly clear. He could still hear her drunken voice last night ringing in his ears, slurring down the phone all the wonderful ways her new boyfriend pleasured her, all the ways in which he was the superior man. Gold had hung up, but not before she’d succeeded in planting the image firmly in his mind. He’d begged her to stop, and it had only made her laugh and sneer and go into greater detail.

Non-consummation. What a lovely, clinical way to describe a man who had waited forty-five years until marriage, only to be too nervous and weak to perform the act.

In that sickened, angry, miserable state, Gold had taken to his computer and found for himself the phone number before him. In the harsh light of day, sober and clear-headed, he had found himself too cowardly even to dial the phone. That was why he’d pulled out the annulment certificate: as incentive.

Boys he’d known in Glasgow had fallen into beds and the backs of cars with girls before they’d even finished high school. But Gold had always been a loner, and had never trusted or wanted anyone close enough to take that final step. He’d waited forty-five years for love, of all things: for trust, for honesty, for kindness and compassion and desire all found in one person. The sort of love he’d seen between his aunts every day he spent under their roof. He had craved it, desperately: he couldn’t bring himself to want a woman he didn’t love, and who didn’t love him in return.

In the end, he had proven unlovable.

Coward that he was, rather than accept it – face a hard truth and learn a hard reality – he had instead convinced himself he loved a woman who only saw him as a meal ticket. It had been the wanting that had proven elusive, when it came down to it: his anxiety and fear had outmatched his flagging desire tenfold. Mila had quickly learned that desire, passion, sex, were far more important to her than any comfort and security Gold could provide. In turn, Gold had learned that there was no point in looking for love, or waiting for it to find you. After forty-five years, it clearly wasn’t coming for the likes of him.

Passion and desire couldn’t be paid for, of course: one either felt them or didn’t. Mila had simply lain there on their wedding night, feigning neither. She wanted him to prove himself to her, prove his love and his wanting. The lack of both in the moment of truth had sickened his stomach. He grew so scared of failing her, so frightened of her anger and her disappointment, that he had been rendered impotent.

Gold dwelled on that horrible, mortifying memory longer than he would usually allow, steeling himself. He’d waited long enough. The rest of the goddamned world had left him and his old-fashioned ideas behind, and it was high time he accepted that. Clearly any relationship he attempted in the future would be doomed to this same sorry fate if he did not. After all, what woman would want to promise forever to a crippled man in his forties who had saved himself for a failed marriage? It was acceptable for a woman to be inexperienced; for a man it was nothing short of shameful.

Love was beyond his grasp, but experience at least could be gained for a price.

He picked up the phone before he lost what little nerve he had, his heart hammering in his throat as it rang for an interminable time. He almost bottled it and hung up when the line finally connected, and a woman’s voice – mature, and pitched low and sultry – came through on the other end.

“Welcome to Happily Ever After,” she drawled. “How can we help you find your happy ending?”

The line was so cheesy, so stilted, that for a moment Gold was thrown out of his nervousness into pure confusion. “This is… this is the escort service, yes?”

“We provide a service of that ilk, yes,” she said, a little cagily. Gold understood her worry. From his days at law school he remembered the high penalties associated with solicitation, and he panicked, wondering how the hell he was supposed to explain that he wasn’t some undercover detective. “How can we help you?”

“I… I’d like to…” he stammered, paused, lost his nerve, wondered what the hell he was doing, and then remembered Mila’s face all in the space of a second. “I don’t know,” he finished, miserably.

She took a gentler tone then, “You’re a little unsure,” she said, stating the obvious. “That’s alright. How about we talk about what you’re hoping for from this call, and we can find the right fit?”

“Okay,” he agreed, taking a deep and shuddering breath. How had he come to this? How was he so pathetic that he was forty-five and considering hiring a prostitute to take his virginity?

His gaze landed on the annulment papers again, and he squeezed his eyes tight shut, bracing himself. He knew exactly how he’d ended up here. Something had to change, and if this was the price then so be it. Better he disappoint someone he was paying, who had more to risk than he by telling tales. Better he perhaps even gain some knowledge, some experience in this area, from a professional with no emotional stake in the matter. Logically this made sense. It didn’t mean he was excited or happy about the prospect.

“Alright,” she said. “My name is Mal, what’s yours?””

“Gold,” he said, the intelligence to provide a false name failing him in his blind panic. “Isaac Gold,” he added, driving the knife in deeper. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought miserably.

“Lovely to meet you, Mr Gold,” Mal said, her voice dripping with sincerity. “Now, are you looking for a male or female companion for the evening?”

“Female,” he blurted, needing that squared away at least. Upon reflection, this would likely be far less pathetic if he were in the closet, his inability to consummate his marriage to Mila merely a symptom of hidden homosexuality. That could be treated with sympathy, with solidarity, once revealed in the right time and place. That he was old-fashioned, untrusting, and terrified of intimacy was far less easily explained away.

“Wonderful,” Mal said. “Well, we have a number of ladies who would be more than happy to give their time. It really depends upon the occasion.”

“No occasion,” he said. “I… this isn’t… I don’t need accompanying to anything, I mean. I don’t need… escorting.”

“I see,” she said. “But you would like a night with one of our female escorts?”

“I…” he clenched his jaw against a sickening wave of embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to hang up the phone. His words had deserted him. No, he didn’t want a night with an escort. He wanted his wife back. He wanted a wife who loved him, and wouldn’t run off with a man from a seedy bar the first chance she got. He wanted to be intimate with someone who didn’t make him anxious and sad to the point of vomiting. He wanted loving companionship for life, not just for the evening. But those avenues were apparently closed to him for good, being as he was a bitter, crippled, isolated old man, and this was what was left. “Yes,” he said at last. “I suppose so.”

“You don’t sound sure,” the woman said. “Please, be assured that that’s not uncommon. It’s natural to be unsure the first time.”

“Yes,” he said, bitterly. “The first time.”

“We have someone for everyone,” she said. “We pride ourselves on that, in fact. I’m making some assumptions here, but I’m thinking we should cross off the ladies who specialise in the more… adventurous end of the spectrum? I don’t think you’re looking for a spanking? Please let me know if I have that wrong.”

Gold’s face burned hot and red, and he sputtered with mortification at the very idea, clearing his throat before he was able to say. “No, please no.”

“Okay,” she said. “Then why don’t you tell me a little about yourself? See if I can’t match you up?”

“Wh-what do you want to know?” Gold stammered.

“Well, what about the basics? Age, interests, preferences?”

“I’m ah, I’m forty-five,” he admitted, but he heard no disgust in Mal’s voice when she hummed in acknowledgement. “I’m a bit of a hermit,” he added, almost as a disclaimer. “I don’t get out much. I mostly just… I read. And work.”

“An intellectual, then?” she prompted, and he could hear a friendly smile in her voice. It almost set him at ease, which he supposed was the point. If she was successful in gentling him through this, she stood to make a hefty commission no doubt.

“I suppose so,” he murmured. “That’s a nice way of putting it.”

“And you’re not from the States, either?” she guessed.

“Scottish,” he confirmed. “Glaswegian.”

“Lovely,” she said. “Any preferences?”

“In what sense?”

He heard a soft laugh on the other end, and he blushed hard at his own inexperience. What a question to ask, when there was really only one answer. “Well, most men have some sexual preferences,” she said, frankly. “Although we’ve ruled out the kinkier side of things already. I suppose I’m asking if you have a type.“

“I’m afraid I don’t really have a type,” he said. “I don’t get out much. I suppose… “ He thought of Mila, thought of how small he felt around her, how she’d dwarfed him both in presence and in height. She’d called him a little man, mocked him on the phone for his small stature, his limp, his physical weakness. “I’m only five foot seven,” he said. “So maybe someone… shorter than that? If possible?”

“Not a problem,” the woman said, with a note of professional satisfaction. “In fact, I do believe we have someone perfect for you. Her name’s Lacey, and she usually accompanies clients on dates and family outings. She’s an old soul, very conventional.”

That latter descriptor caught Gold’s attention, and he swallowed hard, willing his tongue to work. “Could you tell me about her?” he begged, needing something to make this feel less seedy than it was, to make it feel more like a blind date and less like a solicitation.

“Of course,” the woman said, easily. “She’s twenty-five, five-two with long dark hair and striking blue eyes. She’s very pretty: feminine, ladylike.”

“Oh.” For some reason, Gold had hoped that the woman being described would be a little older, not a beautiful young woman in her twenties who’d take one look at him and wish for a job change. “Well, I…”

“She’s a college graduate,” Mal continued, cutting him off. “And very fond of books. She’s an intellectual, like you.”

“So if we didn’t… if nothing happened…”

“You’d get your money’s worth in conversation, I assure you,” she said, a little smugly.

“All right, then,” he said in a rush, before he changed his mind. “She sounds… that sounds fine.”

“Excellent.”

The conversation turned to practical aspects – payment, the time and place, how much and how long he wanted to pay for. In his desperation to end the conversation, Gold found himself agreeing to pay for a full twelve hours – seven pm to seven am – and to meet the woman in question that Saturday at one of Boston’s nicest hotels. It seemed the best choice at the time. He knew he’d never feel comfortable enough to do anything at all if he was also worried about the hygiene and safety of a seedy roadside motel.

If he was going to make a beautiful young woman spend a whole night with him, he was at least going to make her comfortable. Making the hotel reservation was easier than the first call had been, and he called the agency back to confirm the time and place, and agreed to meet Lacey in the hotel bar.

It was only when he hung up the phone that Gold collapsed, his head in his hands, and wondered what the hell he thought he was doing.


	2. Chapter 2

It seemed like an eternity and yet no time at all that Gold was sat in the hotel bar, his hands trembling and his room key stowed in his breast pocket. He had been told to wait for the escort he’d paid for to approach him like she knew him, discreet and easy, so all he had to do was confirm his name and she would take things from there. He was certain that everyone here would know exactly what was going on. 

“Double gin, light on the tonic, thank you darling,” a toweringly tall, rail-thin woman sat down next to him at the bar, decked out in a slinky black sequined dress and fur coat. She was blonde, angular, about his age, and she shot him a flirtatious smile as she waited for her drink. “Alone?” she asked him, directly.

He swallowed, hard. Had the agency made a mistake? Had they sent this lanky, glamorous, lethal-looking woman instead of the tiny brunette bookworm he was expecting? She was gorgeous, there was no doubting that, but she also looked like she ate tiny, shy men like him for breakfast. She looked exactly how he would have imagined an escort of around his age, in fact.

“Y-yes?” he managed at last, and she smiled with all her teeth.

“No need to be so frightened, darling,” she purred. “I don’t bite.”

He didn’t believe that for a moment. 

“Are you staying in the hotel?” he asked, desperately hoping he was mistaken. She grinned.

“Oh no,” she said. “Well, not unless that’s an offer, darling.”

He gulped. This was not going well. He had known this was a mistake, he knew it and he did it anyway and the Happily Ever After Agency could keep his money, he just wanted to run as fast as his twisted foot could carry him away from this stunning, predatory woman who looked like she wanted to swallow him whole. This wasn’t what he’d wanted. This wasn’t exciting; this was terrifying.

“Ah, Mr Gold,” a low female voice, new and softly accented, came from behind him, and a small hand brushed his upper arm. “There you are.”

He turned to face the stranger, his saviour, thankful for any interruption from the horror scene unfolding with the woman next to him. He found himself looking into the bluest pair of eyes he’d ever seen in his life. His brain scrambled to a halt. Hope, as unfamiliar as the woman before him, bloomed in his chest. She was petite, a head shorter than him, delicate and small-boned with tumbling dark curls and the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. And she’d addressed him by name, when he knew for sure he’d know if they’d ever met before. Only a handful of people even knew his forename: his son, Mr Dove, his accountant, and the agency. 

“Lacey?” he guessed, trying to not let it sound too much like a question to the people around him. She nodded, beaming.

“I’m sorry I’m a bit late,” she said, although he knew it could only be five past seven at the latest. “The traffic was horrendous.”

“Where were you coming from?” he asked.

“Only across town,” she said. “Fenway. But you know what the roads are like this time of day. Did you want to get a drink?”

Her words washed over him, and he stared at her, amazed at how familiar she sounded when they’d only just now met. She was playing her part wonderfully: no one in the place would have guessed the truth of their arrangement. There was no uncertainty, no clumsy coyness, and her smile was genuine and warm. As if they were friends, catching up after a long day: as if she knew him, as if she liked him.

“Did you?” he asked, awkwardly. “I, ah,” he gestured to the empty glass of scotch in front of him, “I finished mine but I can get another.”

“I’m good,” she said, easily. “And I’m sure Cara here would like the seat next to her vacated.”

The tall woman on his other side – Cara, apparently – looked up from her gin and winked to Lacey. “I see he has a prior engagement,” she muttered, looking him up and down lasciviously. “Shame. Yes, darlings, go enjoy your evening. Leave us singletons to shop in peace.”

Gold blushed to his roots: if she knew Lacey, then she knew everything! He felt humiliated, exposed, and the urge to run rose in him again, regardless of Lacey’s beauty or her sweet smiles.

“Relax,” she breathed, leaning in close. “I’ll explain later, okay?”

Her breath was warm, and her hair smelled like cherries. He felt his panic subside a little at the contact, and he nodded, slipping down off his chair and bracing himself on his cane. 

“Shall we go?” she asked, slipping her hand into his free one as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Gold felt a shock run up his arm, his whole body warming at just that innocent touch. Was it possible he’d been alone so long that even holding her hand was enough to affect him? Mila had never been overly affectionate, even before they’d married. Lacey was clearly the tactile sort, and Gold’s brain scrambled to keep up.

“Yes,” he nodded. “I… yes.”

“Wonderful,” she grinned, leading him out of the bar and into the foyer. She stood close to him as she came to pause in the centre, halfway between the elevators and the main doors. “What do you want to do, then?” she asked, softly. “The agency said you were staying here?”

“Y-yes,” he nodded, still trying to catch up. “I… have you eaten?” It was such a mundane question to ask a prostitute he’d literally just met in a bar, but he had no idea how to proceed in any other way. Was there a protocol to this? Did she expect certain behaviour from him? Was he already failing to measure up?

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “But you seem nervous, and your comfort is what matters here. Would you feel better in public or in private?”

“Private,” he managed, through gritted teeth. “I, ah, I’ve never been one for crowds.”

“Me neither,” she agreed, warmly, and he felt just a little easier at having found something apparently in common. “Come on, then,” she said. “If we get hungry we can order room service.”

He nodded, and allowed himself to be pulled toward the elevators. She seemed so… normal. She was extraordinarily beautiful, of course, but there was such a grounded presence about her, something calm and capable that seemed to just allow her to take charge. Maybe it was his inexperience rearing its head again, he thought: maybe she would prefer a man who would be decisive and take control. He hoped not. He had never been that sort of a man.

They were in the elevator before she spoke again, the doors closed on the lobby, just the two of them.

“What should I call you?” she asked, when they were alone. “The name you gave the agency was Isaac Gold, but I can call you whatever you want.”

“That’s my real name,” he admitted, feeling like an idiot for not being bright enough to even give a fake.

“It’s a lovely name,” she told him. “It suits you. What do you go by usually, then? Isaac?”

“Most people refer to me as Mr Gold,” he told her. “As you did, back there.”

“Do you want me to call you Mr Gold, then?” she asked him, looking up through her eyelashes. “Do you want me to submit to you, Mr Gold?”

“No, no!” he blurted, panicked. “Not like that I just…”

She smiled, her whole demeanour changing back immediately, calming him with a hand on his upper arm. “Relax,” she said. “I was just asking. From what Mal told me I didn’t think that was the case. What do your friends call you?”

“I don’t have any,” he said, and what was meant to sound aloof and imperious just came out sad and pathetic. Much like himself, he supposed. 

“Would you prefer Isaac, then?” she asked, without attempting a false reassurance or placation.

“I… suppose so,” he said. “No one ever calls me that.”

“Isaac it is, then,” Lacey grinned. Gold had never liked his forename – too old-fashioned, too Biblical – he knew he could warm to hearing it in her low, alto voice. “It’s alright to be nervous, you know,” she said. “Normal, even.”

“Do you get nervous?” he asked, his eyes on the doors and not on her. 

“Not anymore,” she admitted. “I used to, though, all the time.”

“How long have you… been doing this, then?” he asked. She smiled.

“You mean working as an escort, or riding in elevators?” she asked. She had a dimple in one cheek. He flushed. 

“The… the former,” he said. She laughed, and nodded.

“Three years,” she said. “The same old cliché, I’m paying for grad school.”

“What are you studying?” he asked, grasping for a semblance of normality, a conversation he could be having with anyone. 

“Library science,” she said, as the elevator dinged. “Not exactly sexy, I know.”

They left the elevator on the eighth floor, and he led her to his room at the end of the hall. “The agency said you liked books,” he said, grasping at any way to continue the conversation.

“That’s not my usual selling point,” she said, with a small, pleased smile. “Not many clients would book me based on that. You like books too, then?”

“I read a lot,” he shrugged, fumbling with his key card. “What, ah… what is your usual selling point, then?” he asked. When he looked at her, she had a smirk on her face that changed her whole appearance from innocent country maiden to sultry seductress.

“Come closer,” she said, leaning in to his ear. “I’ll whisper it.”

He froze to the spot, terrified, hoping to God she wouldn’t say something that would make him spiral into a panic attack. He wasn’t ready for anything adventurous – he wasn’t sure he was even ready for this. He stood there, paralysed, waiting for her to say something filthy, something unbelievable.

“I’m an amazing listener,” she whispered. 

He stared at her in shock as she pulled back, snickering at his stunned expression. “What?” she chortled. “Escorts can’t have a sense of humour?”

He found himself smiling as the joke dawned on him, and he even managed a small chuckle. “I suppose I was expecting something… worse.”

“There’s plenty of girls at the agency that do that sort of work,” she shrugged, as he finally got the key card to work and let them inside. She trotted in behind him, looking around with a satisfied smile at the luxurious surroundings. He closed the door behind her, and then suddenly, absurdly, wished he hadn’t. They were alone, now: he was trapped. “You know,” Lacey continued, turning to look at him expectantly, “Spankings and contortions and role-play. But Mal told me you didn’t want that sort of thing?”

“N-no,” he shook his head, his tongue heavy and numb in his mouth. “No, I… I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Well, that’s not a bad place to start, you know,” she said, gently. “We can talk about it. We can do as much as you’re comfortable with. And if all you want is to talk about books and order room service, then that’s fine with me.”

“Okay,” he nodded, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Good,” she took both his hands in hers, stroking the backs of his hands with his thumbs. Mal had been right in her assessment: there was something very old-world, ladylike and feminine about Lacey. She wore her dark long and gently curled, make up simple, and her deep blue dress with its high neckline and little flared skirt altogether gave her the appearance of a fairy tale princess, modernised for the twenty-first century. She was nothing like he had expected or feared, which gave him no small measure of relief.

“Is this okay?” she asked. She was standing very close, her perfume and her smile doing strange things to his heart rate. 

“Yes,” he breathed.

“Good.” She leaned up on her tiptoes, and pressed a single, chaste kiss to his lips. Her lips were very warm against his, soft and sweet. His blood sang at the contact, his whole body tensing. His focus narrowed to the place where their lips were joined. “How about that?”

“Y-yes,” he managed. “I… yes.” He almost swayed toward her, but he stopped himself at the last minute. His lips tingled with the memory of hers, and the silence stretched for a long minute. 

“Let’s sit down,” she invited, pulling him back by his hands. She sat down on the edge of the bed, and he sat down beside her, their knees just touching in the middle. She released his hands, and bent her knee, reaching for the top of her burgundy high heel. “Is it okay if I take my shoes off?” she asked. He nodded.

“Of course,” he said. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

She giggled at that, “You’d be surprised by how often I hear the words ‘no, no, leave it on’, with regards to any item of clothing.”

“I don’t… as long as you’re comfortable,” he said, lamely, feeling like the least sexy person who’d ever existed. “I don’t mind.”

“Thanks,” she smiled, those dimples appearing again. She took off one heel and then the other, sighing and wriggling her toes, rotating her ankles in relief. “They’re gorgeous but they’re not comfy.”

“They are… they are pretty,” he admitted. “On- on you, I mean. I don’t have a… I don’t have a shoe thing. They look very nice on you.”

She smiled at his awkward attempt at a compliment, “Thank you,” she said, sincerely. “It’s okay if you do have a shoe thing. There’re weirder fetishes.”

“I don’t,” he said. “I… I don’t have an anything-thing.”

“Is that why you arranged this?” she asked, curiously. He paused, his mouth clamping shut. Even to her – a professional, and a seemingly very nice, understanding professional – he didn’t want to admit the truth. “You don’t have to tell me,” she added, after a long beat of silence. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. In fact,” she rallied, taking charge again as she seemed to do so well. “Even outside of the usual situations, safe words can very be useful, especially in my line of work. Would you like to do that? That way you have an easy way to get out of something without explaining why.”

He nodded: the idea sounded marvellous, in fact. He wondered why life didn’t come with such an easy get-out clause.

“How about the standard, then?” she suggested, encouraged by his easy agreement. “Red for ‘stop’, yellow for ‘pause’, and green for ‘keep going’. How does that sound?”

“Okay,” he nodded. “I think I can do that.”

“Good,” she said. “So if you say ‘red’, then whatever we’re doing – even talking – stops without question, and doesn’t restart. ‘Yellow’ will mean we take however long you need to talk it through, and we’ll pick back up when you say so. ‘Green’ will mean nothing changes. So I’ll ask again, and you can use one of those words if you need to. Why did you arrange an evening with me?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say ‘red’, and stop the conversation there and then. But somehow the fact that he could – that he knew he could, that she had sensed his discomfort and, instead of mocking or pushing him, found a way around it – made him want to tell her. He felt he could say anything, and have no backlash, no consequences, no pain forthcoming. He could understand what she’d said earlier, now: she was a good listener.

“My wife just left,” he admitted, softly. “And… it wasn’t a divorce. It was an annulment.”

“I see,” she nodded. “I ah… I was pre-law before I transferred to librarianship,” she told him. “So I know what that means. What were the grounds, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Non-consummation,” he managed the words around reluctant lips, the syllables almost incomprehensible. But she heard them. She had to have. So now she knew. 

“I see,” she murmured, and he could almost hear her bright mind whirring, processing the new information. “So is this a medical issue, or…”

“Anxiety,” he all but snapped, and she flinched just a little at his sudden harshness. “I… I was waiting. For marriage, I mean. But when the moment came it… it didn’t happen. So I’ve never been intimate with anyone. If you’re going to laugh, do me a favour and get it over with now.” He closed his eyes, and braced himself: for laughter, for some insulting question about his manhood, or even for her to tell him she didn’t service virgins in their forties and would be organising a refund. 

He started when he felt her soft hand cover both of his where he’d clenched them in his lap. He should have safe-worded out. He shouldn’t have said the words. How could she respect him now? How could she enjoy her evening in any way, knowing what was to come?

He chanced a glance at her when she squeezed his hands with hers, and found her blue eyes deep and warm with understanding. “Why would I laugh?” she asked, gently. “I think it’s very romantic, wanting to wait. My best friend made the same decision. She didn’t sleep with anyone until her wedding night, and she and her wife are blissfully happy together. ”

“It’s a little different for a beautiful young woman in her twenties,” he reminded her, but a little of the bite was gone from his voice. His anger was such a flighty thing, there one second and gone the next. The wretchedness remained, however. It was an eternal companion, his only companion.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from doing this,” Lacey replied, “it’s that sex should always be an enthusiastic choice, regardless of age or gender or orientation or anything else. Pressure makes it hurt for women, and sometimes even impossible for men. Now, there are practical things you can do to mitigate that – alcohol helps some people loosen up, I have three kinds of lube in my bag, and of course there’s the little blue pill – but in the end, it’s no fun if you don’t want to do it.”

“Then how can you do what you do?” he asked. “If that’s the case?”

Lacey shrugged, smiling, “I find ways to enjoy myself,” she said. “I’m lucky, I suppose: I like sex for its own sake. And I tend to be assigned nice clients,” she squeezed his hands again, and this time he squeezed back. “I could ask you the same thing, anyhow. If you waited so long for your wife, why are you here with me?”

“I was bloody wrong, wasn’t I?” he replied, bitterly. “No point waiting around when you’re the wrong side of forty, crippled, and impotent. I’m not looking for love, not anymore.”

“You’re not on the wrong side of anything,” she chided. “I think that little incident with Cara downstairs proved that. And disability isn’t shameful.”

“Who was that woman at the bar?” he asked, curiously, desperate to turn the topic away from him and his anxiety disorder. Lacey smirked.

“Cara?” she asked. Gold nodded. “She’s a black widow.”

“A what?” he choked. Lacey laughed.

“Well, she denies the charges,” she said. “But you tend to get to know faces like hers doing this kind of work. I mean, my job’s simple, right? You pay the agency, my cut of the money gets transferred to me tomorrow morning, and we all know where we stand. When I go to a bar, I know my client and my client knows me. Cara, on the other hand…” Lacey ran her eyes appraisingly over Gold’s suit, “Cara can spot an expensive suit and a lack of a wedding ring a mile off. Then she goes in for the kill.”

“She… marries rich men?” he guessed. Lacey nodded. “And murders them?”

“Well, brutally divorces them without a pre-nup,” she amended. “There’s only been one death, and he was ninety with a heart condition so we can’t assume that was her doing.”

“You saved me from a truly dire fate, then,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

Lacey’s laughter was light and rich. “Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “Who knows? Maybe Cara would have been a better choice for this evening. She’s tricked four men into marrying her so far, and that can’t all be down to sweet-talking. She’s probably got more moves in the bedroom than I do, and I’m a professional.”

“I think I’d rather not be number five, thank you,” he said, crisply. Lacey shrugged.

“Suit yourself,” she said, her eyes sparkling. 

“And… and you’re much more my type,” he added, blushing to his hairline.

“What? You mean terrifying, predatory divorcees don’t get you going?” she asked, eyebrows high in false shock. 

“Not in so many words, no,” he murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m rapidly finding I prefer tiny, beautiful, aspiring librarians.”

“Charmer,” she muttered, grinning. “Speaking of which, you have any idea what you’d like to do first?” 

“Could we eat first?” he asked. “I’d like… I’d like to get to know you better, before… anything else. If that’s okay?” Lacey smiled, and nodded.

“Of course it’s okay,” she said, gently. “I just hope I’m someone worth knowing.”

“That’s not in question,” he said, sincerely. He thought he was hallucinating when he saw her cheeks tinge pink. 

She stood before he could see any more, and crossed to the desk where a take-out menu sat among the hotel’s brochures. She was shorter in her stocking feet, the heels having given her a good few inches, and for a moment she seemed entirely too tiny and young and bright to be trapped here with him. He had the absurd desire to protect her, to keep her safe and unbroken by the world that had so thoroughly shattered him. Lacey was made of sterner stuff, though: he knew that much already. She was the sort of woman who could take anything the world threw at her, and come out stronger and better for it.

Of course, all this patient understanding, the kindness and sweetness, was an act to make him want to call her again. There were words for the sort of sorry bastard who believed a prostitute really liked them, and Gold was a coward and a weakling but he wasn’t a fool. There was something about her, though, a sort of innate goodness that couldn’t be feigned or learned. He believed that she was kind, that her warmth was genuine, even if she showed it to every client who hired her. 

It wouldn’t stop him for enjoying her smiles while he had them. Lonely, miserable, starved for affection as he was, he had reached a point where he would take whatever he could get, regardless of the hit to his bank account.

He watched as she waited for him to choose what he wanted from the menu, and it was only when he saw her sharp eyes running down the price list, following his finger as he read the options, that he realised what she was doing. This was his room. He would be paying for whatever they ordered, so she would probably match her choice to his, so as to better blend with whatever fantasy he was creating in his mind. She would let him lavish her with an expensive dish or limit his expenditure to fit a tight budget, and make it seem like her desires had matched his all along.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, confirming his suspicions. He was such a paranoid bastard, he might well be wrong. Maybe she was just weighing options in her mind.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “What about you?”

“Whatever you want is fine by me,” she said, almost automatically, and in a flash he wondered how many men she’d said that to in hotel rooms, over dinner tables, at expensive events. How often did she say that? How often was it true?

It was a harsh reminder of the reality of the situation. He wondered what she was like outside of work, whether she was naturally this concerned with making others comfortable or whether it was a skill she had developed over time. 

He was paying for her time, and he would be paying for her dinner, too. From that perspective – her perspective – he had every right to prescribe the experience. Some men would probably get off on that alone, he thought: the knowledge that she was all but at his mercy, that he could have his own way whatever he wanted. Gold didn’t derive any pleasure from that element of control. It made him uncomfortable in the extreme, thinking of how much power – economic, situational, even physical – he had over the woman in front of him. He’d been in that position far too often, forced to submit to the whims of others simply because he had no power to say no. He took no joy in the ability to force someone else into the same situation. 

“It’s really alright,” he said, pushing the menu toward her. “Please, order whatever you want. Honestly, anything.”

He grimaced inside as he said it: that sounded like showing off, like flashing his wealth. He couldn’t get this right. But then, maybe getting this right was impossible, since she was an escort and so her every response was crafted for his enjoyment. There could be no genuine ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ here, because one side was – by virtue of circumstance – incapable of being genuine in the first place.

“Is everything okay, Isaac?” she asked, her hand landing again on his knee, comforting. “What’s the matter?”

“I… I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, and her expression softened, concern morphing again into understanding. “I don’t want this evening to be a trial for you. I want you to enjoy yourself, as much as you can.”

“That’s very sweet,” she smiled, and he thought – hoped, imagined – that he saw just a flash of something surprised and contemplative behind her eyes before she covered it. “But you shouldn’t be worrying about me. I can look after myself. Let me look after you as well, okay?”

“I don’t need looking after,” he said, but even as he said the words he knew it was a lie. He wanted nothing more, right then.

“Will it make you feel better if I’m a little selfish, then?” she asked, her voice thoughtful, tentative. “If I make this more about me? You seem uncomfortable with the attention.”

“I… I don’t tend to enjoy being the focus,” he admitted. “My wife… my wife was always the centre of attention. I like the background.”

“Me too,” she confided, with an encouraging smile. “You don’t study to be a librarian because you enjoy the limelight.”

“What could you possibly be shy about?” he asked, bewildered. She flushed just a little, and this time he didn’t think he’d imagined it. 

“Tell you what,” she said, her eyes gleaming with an idea, “I’ve got a craving for a cheeseburger, maybe the least sexy food imaginable. At the very least you should get a good laugh watching me try and eat it without making a mess.”

His stomach grumbled at the thought of food, and Lacey’s eyes widened. “That’s two cheeseburgers, then,” she added. He let out a surprised laugh.

“Yes, I suppose so,” he said. “I ah… I don’t think I’ll be drinking, though. It’s not… it’s not helpful, in my experience.” 

He’d had more than a few drinks on his wedding night, trying to get up some Dutch courage. Any hope he’d had of success had been dashed by the fog of alcohol clouding his mind and numbing his body. He wanted to remember tonight, even if it meant feeling tightly wound and anxious most of the time. Dear God, did he want to remember tonight.

“Then I won’t either,” she said, with a smile. “Iced tea sound good? I’m not really a soda person.”

“Me neither,” he confided. They shared a smile.

Gold ordered the food quickly over the phone, trying to spend as little time not actively engaged with Lacey as possible. The woman at the agency had been right: she was perfect, beautiful and clever and more perceptive and understanding than anyone he’d ever met. No wonder she was recommended for nervous first-time clients. She’d set him at ease within an hour, and despite the reality of the situation, the pathetic mess of his life that it represented, he couldn’t help but enjoy her company. 

She had settled back against the pillows by the time he looked back, her legs stretched out in front and her hands clasped over her flat stomach. She looked completely comfortable, as if she belonged there. Truthfully, in this hotel bedroom, she probably did belong far more than Gold did. She patted the space beside her on the mattress, and Gold toed off his shoes and gratefully joined her. 

“Now,” she said, looking up at him, “You said you wanted to get to know me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Now,” she said, looking up at him, “You said you wanted to get to know me.”_

“It’s alright,” Gold said, suddenly bashful and uncertain. “I don’t… I don’t want to pry. I’m sure you don’t enjoy sharing parts of your life with… with clients.”

“You’ve been very honest with me, so far,” she praised. “And if I didn’t enjoy talking, I wouldn’t take on clients who want more than a body to fuck. Some of my colleagues feel that way and it works for them, but I always enjoy conversation if it’s on offer.”

He burned red to his ears at her casual use of such an ugly phrase. Part of him – little used and unfamiliar – was murderous at the thought of anyone using Lacey as just ‘a body to fuck’, even with her consent. She was wonderful. She deserved the world; she certainly deserved far more than just this hotel room and a night where her wishes were supposedly secondary to his.

“So what did you want to know?” she asked. He thought for a moment.

“I… don’t lie?” he begged, knowing he sounded pathetic but feeling a surge of desperation that couldn’t be denied. He was paranoid by nature; he expected deception and false smiles. “Please?”

She smiled, and nodded. “Okay,” her eyes had narrowed a little, as if she were trying to figure him out. Gold had the absurd notion that, were it possible, he would happily peel open his ribcage and show her his heart if that made her task easier. Someone ought to see it, even if her insight had been bought and paid for, even if it couldn’t last. “Well how about we extend the safe words, hm? How about I use them too? That way you know that if I tell you something, it’s because I’m comfortable doing so.”

He nodded fervently, “Please,” he said. “Please do that. I… yes, please.”

“Alright. So with that established, fire away.”

He paused for a moment, trying to marshal his thoughts into some sort of order and failing. Finally, he asked, “Where are you from, originally?”

She sputtered a laugh, shaking her head, “Oh god,” she said, “I thought it was going to be something way more personal than that!” she took a deep breath and got control of herself. “Australia,” she said. “A little town outside of Melbourne. I lived there until I was eighteen, then came to the States for college and never left. And yourself?”

“Glasgow,” he replied, shortly. “Moved here just over fifteen years ago.” There was no more he wished to say on the subject, and he hoped she wouldn’t ask any follow-up questions. Glasgow held few good memories for him, and the last thing he needed was their intrusion here. The silence stretched, until he awkwardly asked the first question that popped into his head to break it. “So why did you want to be a librarian?”

“I just love books,” she said. “And the quiet, and the smell, you know? That heavy, ancient scent of all that knowledge in one place, leather and parchment and old paper. Ultimately I’d love to work at one of the Harvard libraries, but I’ve actually got a job lined up to start in a month, running a small town public library. The town’s just reopening it so they needed someone, and you have to start somewhere, right?”

“Where are you moving to?” he asked, before he could stop himself. Lacey’s lips pursed, and she shook her head.

“Sorry,” she said. “Red. Got to draw a line between two lives, you know?”

“Fair enough,” Gold said, with a pang of disappointment. He’d never be able to find her again after tonight. Not that he’d planned to – not that she’d want him to – but still, his heart sank. “That’s very wise. Although I can’t imagine there’ll be much call for this sort of work in a small town,” Gold added, thinking of Storybrooke and the rumours about one or two of the girls who hung around the only bar in town. They may well take the occasional payment for the occasional service, but nothing remotely in Lacey’s league. Lacey smiled slyly, and leaned in, her voice low and confidential.

“Can you keep a secret?” she asked, and he raised an eyebrow.

“This whole evening is a secret, isn’t it? I’m hardly planning to tell my so- to tell anyone.”

He saw she’d caught his slip-up, her eyes widening just a second before she caught herself. She considered what he’d said, and nodded. “No,” she said. “I suppose not. The secret is that this is actually my last job. As of tomorrow I’ll have paid off my student debt, and be able to move out of town and get a clean slate. I’ve handed in my notice, and in twenty-four hours I’ll be off their books.”

“So you… you’re leaving the agency?” he asked. Lacey nodded.

“Please don’t tell Mal I told you that,” she pleaded, quickly. “She’d kill me if she knew I went into a new client warning him he couldn’t hire me again. The agency thrives on repeat business, you know? And most returning clients ask for the same girl they had before.”

Gold frowned, forced to re-evaluate her behaviour in light of this new information. She had no stake in him calling back. So long as he didn’t demand a refund, and so long as she stayed and did her due diligence, it didn’t matter if he ever paid the agency another dime. She would be gone.

There was a knock on the door right then, and Gold moved to take his cane and get to the door. Lacey watched from the bed as he limped to the door, and let a tall, gangly man in a room service uniform wheel a table inside, two silver domes covering their dinner. He signed for the food and tipped the man as quickly as he could, wanting the interloper to leave as fast as possible.

“Not a fan of strangers, huh?” Lacey asked, when the server had finally left, and they were alone again. “You were very brave to call the agency, in that case.”

He snorted, “No one has ever accused me of bravery.”

“I think you were lonely,” Lacey shrugged, without censure or pity, just stating a fact. “No shame in that, most of us are. It takes bravery to look at a bad situation and find a way to fix it, especially when it scares you. Bravery means nothing if you’re not afraid to begin with.”

“It’s a quick fix,” he shrugged, wheeling the table close to the bed. Lacey pushed herself down to the end to dangle her feet over the edge, knees under the table. Her feet didn’t even touch the floor.

She gave him a frank smile, and pulled the lid from her plate. “Band-Aid covers the bullet hole,” she shrugged. “It’s still better than bleeding out.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. She was watching him expectantly, and after a moment he realised he needed to sit next to her in order to eat his dinner. She shifted over to make room as he maneuvered his way in beside her, and he felt that same strange tingling beneath his skin when his thigh pressed against hers under the table. She waited a moment; he supposed to see whether he planned to continue the conversation.

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if she had been talking exclusively about his loneliness, which he couldn’t have hidden from her for more than a few seconds if he’d tried, or about herself as well. Was that why she did this? Did spending her evenings with her clients make her happy because without it she’d be alone? He couldn’t fathom how could someone like her ever find herself wanting for company. She was young, gorgeous, kind and clever. If she could be alone, then what hope did a gnarled old bastard like him have?

She picked up her burger in both hands. He was suddenly distracted from his thoughts by the sight of her all but unhinging her jaw to take a huge bite, a blob of ketchup smearing onto the tip of her nose as she did. “What?” she laughed around the food in her mouth, her hand covering her lips. He shook his head.

“I’m just impressed,” he said. “Many women would try and be delicate about it.”

Lacey shrugged, swallowing hard. “You said I could be selfish, and I like shoving it directly into my face. I can try and eat it sexier if you prefer. You did pay for a top-flight escort, after all, I don’t want to disappoint.”

“No, no,” he held up his hands to ward off her suggestions. “Please, don’t.”

“Too late!” she grinned, and picked up one of her French fries, putting on an exaggerated pout and running the end over her lips. She did a full routine with the French fry, sliding it between her lips and teasing her tongue with it, throwing outrageous bedroom eyes before finally popping it into her mouth. “Works better with a chocolate-covered strawberry,” she shrugged, swallowing the fry. “French fries aren’t exactly an erotic food.”

Gold heard her speaking, but his eyes were caught on her mouth, and that dab of ketchup hanging off her tiny nose. There were little flecks of salt on her lips, and he wondered if he would be able to taste them if he kissed her. The thought was so unlike him that it took him aback, and he tore his gaze from her mouth to the food in front of him, picking his own burger up without ceremony and taking a bite.

Had he ever been distracted by Mila’s mouth? He’d spent so much of their courtship focusing on what she wanted, what would make her happy. He’d tried to kiss her when she wanted to be kissed, to admire her when she wanted to be admired. Lacey didn’t seem to seek admiration: she just existed, doing whatever she did with her whole self, be it listening or eating or talking, with no more intention than to do that one thing right, in that moment. He thought that if she wanted to be kissed, she’d say so, and if she wanted to be admired then she’d ask him to admire her. No games, no tricks, no secret and deadly traps. There was something wonderfully freeing about that, about being able to relax in the knowledge that there were no hidden signals he was missing.

It was only now that he realised that Lacey probably wasn’t even her real name. It didn’t quite suit her, somehow: too modern, somehow, too obvious. It took her a second to respond to it when called, as well. He couldn’t hope to ever learn her real name, of course, but still he couldn’t help but dream that one day he might.

“Good burgers,” Lacey commented, halfway into hers by now. When he looked up she had wiped the ketchup from her nose, and he felt an unexpected pang at the missed opportunity. He could have done that for her, had he been brave enough to reach out. “Haven’t had a good burger in forever. The places on campus all suck.”

“Which campus?” he asked.

“Simmons College,” she replied. “But I don’t tend to forage more than a few blocks away from the library, so my options are a little limited.”

“There’s a little diner in my town that does amazing burgers,” Gold volunteered. “The proprietor hates me but her burgers are so good I go back anyway.”

“Where’s home, then?” she asked. “From the suit and the hotel I assumed you lived in the city.”

“Up in Maine,” he said. She might not want to be found, but the idea of her coming and seeking him out was too enchanting not to feed, just a little. “Just a little town no one’s ever heard of.”

She inhaled her burger a little too fast at that point, her sudden gasp cutting him off. Concerned, he pounded on her back, helping her swallow down as she choked. “Sorry,” she gasped, reaching for her iced tea. “Just went down the wrong way.”

“No problem,” he replied, returning to his food. She gulped down the tea, and when she surfaced her face was a little less red.

“Sorry,” she said, her voice a little hoarse. “Guess I was trying to eat a little too fast. Thanks for the save.”

“You’re very welcome,” he smiled, and felt his body slowly relaxing. She was just another person. She could choke on food, she could eat too fast, she could let details slip and make stupid jokes. She wasn’t some intimidating professional, with impossibly high standards and a one-track mind. He doubted she’d say a word if they spent the whole evening just talking on the bed, fully clothed.

He understood now why men paid for company, why escort agencies made so much money. It wasn’t just about sex, it was about companionship: it was about not being alone.

“What do you do, then?” she asked, a while later when they’d finished their burgers in companionable silence, and pushed the table away from the bed.

“A number of things,” he said. “Mostly property rental and legal work, and I run a small antiques business on the side.”

“An entrepreneur, then?” she asked.

“That’s one way to put it,” he said. “I think most of my clients would prefer ‘miser’ or ‘monster’ depending on the cost of their rental payments.”

“I can’t believe that,” she said. “You’re easily the least beastly man I’ve ever met.”

“People tend to read their own interpretations from silence and isolation,” Gold shrugged. “Often the more successful one’s business practices, the more sociable and likeable one has to be to avoid such a reputation. I have never been either of those things.”

“I’ll have to take your word on the sociable front,” she said, pursing her lips. “But I’m not having any problem liking you.”

“You don’t have to say that,” he said, bitterly. “I know it’s in your job description to claim to like me, but I’d rather not be lied to.”

“And I promised I wouldn’t do that,” she returned. “So you’re going to have to trust me, okay?”

He wanted to; oh, how he wanted to. But Gold trusted only one person in the whole world, and he couldn’t break the habit of a lifetime. “Yellow,” he murmured. Lacey opened her mouth, and then closed it again, clenching her jaw and taking stock.

“We are going to return to that,” she promised him. Then she took a breath, straightened her shoulders, and changed the subject. “What would you like to do now?”

His brain stumbled to a halt, his mouth opening and then closing again as he fought to find an answer. He didn’t know. He didn’t know, and it killed him that he didn’t know. The expectation of what tonight ought to lead to hung over him heavily, making his palms sweat and his heart race. He couldn’t tell what was fear and what was desire, or whether any of the latter could survive in the face of the former.

“Hey, stay with me,” she took his hand in both of hers, squeezing it tight. “We don’t have to do anything else, if you don’t want to. We could just keep talking?”

He nodded, and she smiled encouragingly. She scooted back on the bed, pulling him with her with his hand still held in hers, until she was lying with her head on the pillows. He lay down beside her, and stared at the ceiling, trying to adjust to the shift in position. Lying down was far more intimate than sitting at the end of the bed had been: it left no doubt as to the possibility ahead, the underlying intention that remained no matter how long he stalled or how often she attempted to release any pressure he might feel.

“You… I don’t think you meant to, but earlier you mentioned your family?” she prompted, when he’d been silent for a few long moments. “Would you like to tell me about them?”

“I… yes,” he said, needing a distraction from the nerves fogging his brain. “I have a son. His name is Neal. He lives in the city, too, just a few miles from here. I’m hoping to see him and his wife for lunch tomorrow, actually.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-five,” Gold replied, his heart rate calming as he thought of his son and not the woman beside him. “I adopted him when he was ten, so we’ve been a family for fifteen years now. He’s all the living family I have left, in fact.”

“It must be hard, having him live so far away,” she said. He nodded, his throat constricting a little, remembering the day he’d helped Neal move his final things out of the house and into his apartment in Boston. It had been the hardest day of his life, and it had some competition for that title.

“It is,” he said, shortly. “But he’s happy.”

“How did you end up adopting him?” Lacey asked. “It’s rare to hear of a single man adopting a child.”

“I… it’s a long story.”

“I’m sorry,” Lacey said, immediately. He could tell she meant it, too. He was quiet for a long second, considering how to proceed. The story of how he and Neal had come to be a family was one of the stranger chapters of his life, but hardly the worst. He even thought it might be one of the few stories he could tell where he didn’t come off as the spineless human mess he knew himself to be.

His silence clearly worried her, for after a moment she spoke again. “Colour?”

“Green,” he sighed. “I’m sorry, I… I’ve just never told it to anyone before. I always leave that to him, if anyone asks. I don’t know how to start”

“Take your time,” Lacey said. “It sounds like an interesting story.”

“I… didn’t intend to adopt a child,” Gold started, remembering that period of his life all too well. Before Neal, he hadn’t even been aware of how lonely he’d been. He’d been accumulating wealth, trying to insure himself against a return to the poverty he’d been raised in. He’d been hell-bent on that pursuit; he’d given little mind to the silence that greeted him every evening, or the fact that he had no one to enjoy his newfound comfort with. “I’d just moved to Maine,” he said. “I was new to the States, and the winters in New England. I didn’t know yet how to navigate the ice and the snow. I was driving home from a meeting in Portland late at night. The roads had been fine that morning but it had rained in the day, and the rain had frozen when the temperature dropped.”

“Black ice,” Lacey murmured, following along.

“Yes,” he confirmed, closing his eyes against images that would never fade from his memory: the dark road; the snow falling in thick flakes; the hum of the car and his tired eyes aching in the dark. “I was driving carefully, but the roads were unfamiliar, and the road turned sharply out of nowhere. Another car, a minivan with a family inside, came careening around the corner and as we braked, both vehicles skidded on the ice and collided.”

“Oh, god,” Lacey’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide. “And… Neal was in the other car?”

“Neal… and his original foster family,” Gold agreed, heavily. “Both parents, and three children.”

“Oh my god,” she gasped. “Did… did they…”

“I heard their daughter screaming,” Gold said, remembering that cry as clear as day, breaking through the daze of the crash, sharp through the wind and the snow. “I remember dragging myself out of the car and hobbling down the road. My ankle was broken, but I had to see what had happened. I had to know if they were okay. I heard the kids shouting for help. I helped Neal out of the car, and he helped his sister. I don’t remember much else. I’d hit my head, and the next I knew I was in the ER back in Portland.”

“Did they survive?” Lacey asked, although with the story’s ending Gold knew she must have guessed the rest. He sighed.

“The kids did,” he said. “They’d all been in the back, and it was a head-on collision. But the parents… well, the mother made it to the hospital, at least. The father had been the one driving, and he was dead on arrival. His body had been crushed by the steering wheel. Neal was the only child badly injured, a broken arm and some fractured ribs, and he remembered me from the accident. The lad sought me out in the hospital, out of some sort of misplaced gratitude for helping him from the wreck. As if it hadn’t been partially my fault he’d been orphaned all over again in the first place.”

“People die on the black ice up here every winter,” Lacey said, softly. “It happens. And you might well have saved him from further injury, helping him the way you did. It was a very brave thing to do, especially since you were injured yourself.”

“Yes, well,” he looked at the ceiling, moving on with his story. “The other children were all taken to live with their grandmother out of state, but he was just a foster child, and the grandparents didn’t have room.” He snorted through his nose, remembering the old shrew he’d only met once or twice, the few times he’d taken Neal to visit the Darling children in New Hampshire. “More like she just didn’t want care of a child that wasn’t her blood. She had no legal responsibility, and so she didn’t care for the trouble.”

“So you adopted him.”

“It seemed only right,” Gold shrugged. “If I hadn’t been on that road that night, if I’d stayed over in Portland or taken a different route, he’d have still had a family. He was so afraid of going back into the system, he was so small and alone, I… I just couldn’t make him go back. He was such a sweet kid, and he’d lost so much already. And anyway, he needed someone to foot the hospital bill.”

Lacey’s eyes were wide, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “That was a very noble thing to do,” she said. “Not many people would open their home to an orphan they barely knew.”

“We’d got to know each other well enough in the hospital,” he said. “We’d gone through physiotherapy together. He’d broken his arm in the crash, and my foot’s never been the same since. Old bones versus new, I suppose, and walking on it in the cold had fairly well buggered it. So he wasn’t a stranger.”

“It’s still amazing,” she said. “And now he’s all grown up and has a job and a wife, because of what you did for him. You must be very proud.”

“I am,” Gold smiled, unable to deny that much. Neal was the light of his life, and his heart swelled with pride at the mere thought of him. “The day I watched him graduate from college with honours was the best day of my life. But that was all him. He’s a brilliant kid, all I did was give him a bed.”

“See?” she grinned, “How could anyone not like you, knowing all of that?”

“Most people don’t know that.”

“You should tell them. I mean, if I’d adopted an orphan out of the goodness of my heart and raised them to be an upstanding member of society, I’d wear a badge so everyone knew,” Lacey teased, and he rolled his eyes. “I’d never shut up about it!”

“But therein lies the difference between you and I,” he said, with a wry smile. “You would enter into such a conversation willingly, and enjoy the human contact. You like people. I don’t like people,” he said. “People tend to feel the same way about me.”

“Does that make me an exception to the rule?” she asked, with a cheeky grin. “Do you like me?”

“Of course I like you,” he said, without thinking. “Who wouldn’t like you?”

“Anyone who’s met me in the morning, for starters,” she snorted. “One of the perks of being an escort is that I never have to be up before eleven.”

“You’re missing the best part of the day,” he told her. “Everything’s quiet and still when the sun’s rising. You can go for walks or work or whatever you wish without anyone disturbing you.”

“I’m sure it’s beautiful,” she sighed. “And I do like the quiet. I just like my bed even more. Another perk of being an escort: lots of time in bed, less time out of it.” She gave him a saucy wink, and he snickered.

“Libraries open early,” he warned. “University libraries often never close.”

“I said there were upsides to this sort of work,” she said. “I didn’t say they were enough to keep me in it.”

“What are the downsides, then?” he asked. “What’s bad enough to lure you away from evening work and plenty of lying down?”

She shot him a side-eye look, “So you didn’t come into this expecting some Pretty Woman-esque scenario in which I need rescuing from a big, bad, abusive industry?”

“My aunts, the women who raised me, had friends in the sex industry,” he told her, with a small shrug. “I know it isn’t what it looks like on television. And I did try to pick an agency that seemed less likely to be abusing its workers.”

“Is that why you chose to wait?” she asked. “Too many traumatic psychosexual experiences as a child?”

“No,” he snapped his temper flaring. For the first time that evening, he heard her voice but saw Mila’s face, sneering at him that he was broken, useless, infantile and unlovable. He’d thought Lacey better than that; he’d thought her understanding and sympathetic. In a fit of pique he couldn’t help but shoot back at her. “I could ask you the same thing, couldn’t I? Do you have to be broken and traumatised as a child to become a sex worker? Are all escorts just fallen women, damaged beyond repair?”

“No,” she said, looking away, ashamed of herself. Her voice came very small, guilty and contrite. “No, you’re right. It’s about choice. I’m so sorry, that was… that was ignorant. I should know better in my line of work. There’s nothing wrong or broken about promiscuity or celibacy. It’s just what you choose to do with your body.”

He took a deep breath, his anger abating at her genuine apology. “It’s fine,” he said, stiffly. “My wife asked the same thing. She thought I was broken for not wanting to fall into bed with the first woman I met.”

“You’re not broken,” she assured him. “You’re not. We’re just… I guess we’re just coming from very different places, is all. I’m wondering why you hired me for the night, and not to just go to a baseball game or the theatre or something. The hotel implies you were considering something other than just talking, at least at one point. If your celibacy has been by choice, why hire an escort and a hotel room?”

“Because at forty-five, with one failed marriage behind me already and having never been in love, I figured enough was enough. It’d be different if I really didn’t… want to. I know there’s plenty out there who don’t, and are happy that way. But I do. Want to, I mean. I just… I think I’ve made it into such a big deal in my head that I can’t just let it happen now.”

“Okay,” she nodded, chewing her lip in what he was coming to recognise as her ‘thinking’ face. “Well, for a lot of people – most people, in fact – the biggest part of a good sexual experience is trust. I told you we’d circle back to this,” she added, with a sly smile. “You said yellow before, so I’ll ask again now. Do you trust me?”

“Now… green,” he said, lamely. He adored how her face lit up at the word, at his use of her safety mechanism, the very thing that had made him able to trust her in the first place. “You’re excellent at your job, Lacey,” he complimented. “You’ve made even me trust you.”

“Maybe you’re just more trusting than you thought,” she suggested. “I’m not doing anything special.”

“You are special,” he told her. Again he saw a hint of that pretty blush in her cheeks. Surely her clients must compliment her all the time: it couldn’t be that unusual that she hear how wonderful she was. “And I do. Trust you, I mean.”

“Good,” she said. “Then tell me, would you like to fuck me?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Good,” she said. “Then tell me, would you like to fuck me?”_

Gold balked at her use of that word, but something else stirred in his belly, something hot and needy at the sound of such a filthy term in Lacey’s sweet, cultured voice. The juxtaposition was thrilling. 

“I always thought about… about making love, I suppose,” he blushed to his ears: he’d never discussed this sort of thing with anyone except for Mila, and she’d never wanted to talk about it for long. She’d have preferred to get on with it, but then she had wanted a man of action, in the end. Gold had always been cautious, keener on thought and words than diving in headfirst. 

“You build up to making love,” Lacey said. “But it puts a lot of expectation on it, doesn’t it? It demands that you love the person you’re with, and that there’s some big emotional swell behind the act. The act itself is just fucking. Just ‘insert tab ‘a’ into slot ‘b’’, rinse and repeat.”

“Have you ever done that, then?” he asked. “Made love, I mean?”

She shrugged, but he caught just a glimpse of something else behind her nonchalance, something that made a lie of how casually she treated all of this. “My one college boyfriend taught me that you don’t need love to enjoy sex. I never loved him, he was far too superficial and dull, but he knew what he was doing in bed and that kept me with him for longer than it should have. When I realised that that part could be found without the disappointing relationship, that I could even be paid for it, it opened a new door. Admittedly, that also gets old after a while, but that’s beside the point.”

“You deserve to be loved,” he told her, in a rush before his shame and his anxiety could cut off the words. “You deserve both. The love and the… the making of it, I mean.”

“Thank you.” Her dimples showed again, a flash of sunshine that warmed him through. She smiled often – in encouragement, in humour, to set him at ease or to express contentment – but her dimples were rarer. It took something special to bring them out, and every time he saw them he wondered how on earth he could bring them out again. “So do you, Isaac. You’re such a good man, you deserve the love you were waiting for.”

“The world would apparently take the opposing view,” he said, ducking his head. Her palm cupped his face, drawing him gently back up to face her. She leaned in close, stroking the side of his cheek with her thumb, her eyes warm and deep.

“The world can fuck off,” she told him, her low, sweet voice a counterpoint to her rough words. It summed her up, he thought: she was so sweet and soft and warm, but with a core of fire and steel that made her far more dangerous than her kind eyes let on. She was beautiful, tiny, fierce and yet more intensely human than anyone he’d ever met. She was astonishing. 

He smiled, acknowledging her words without giving them credence. Her hand didn’t move, but she didn’t speak again, and for a moment everything was still, the air warm and tense between them. Electricity ran through Gold from her palm at his cheek and down his spine. He shivered, lost in her eyes. Her smile retreated slowly, her lush lips slightly parted, gaze flicking from his eyes to his mouth and back again. For just a moment he forgot his fear, his doubt, Mila’s scorn and the harsh realities that lay beyond this hotel room. He was struck dumb by the exquisite woman in front of him, made lovelier still by her bright mind and her seemingly endless kindness, the light that radiated from within her. 

How many men before him had fallen in love with her, all at once and without warning, in a moment such as this? 

No one was more surprised than Gold himself when he leaned forward and kissed her, closing the distance between them. He cupped her jaw to hold her still, and for a moment he swore he was set alight by the gentle pressure of her mouth on his. She moaned softly, slanting her lips over his and kissing him back, plucking at his mouth with hers. It only lasted for a moment, but Gold swore he was flying.

He pulled back slowly, wanting to see her, to resurface. Her eyes were a little dazed, but she smiled when he blinked his open. He parted his lips to say something, an apology or an evasion or something equally stupid. She stopped him with her fingertips, gently pressed to his mouth. “Kiss me again,” she said. Her voice was hot and breathy, urgent, like she needed it. 

Gold didn’t need a second invitation. Running on impulse, he leaned in again, and this time she was ready for him, meeting in the middle and kissing him deeper, this time, her hands carding into his hair. The slight tug of her fingers was a wonderful counterpoint to the softness of her lips, and when she coaxed his mouth open and slipped her tongue inside, he heard himself let out a soft whimper. 

Their teeth clacked awkwardly as they tried to find a good angle, but she didn’t break away, didn’t laugh or look disgusted. When they succeeded in finding their rhythm her tongue touched his, lightly, playfully, sending sparks through his body. He pulled her closer, knowing nothing more than need for more of her, for warmth and light and beauty and softness, for everything she could give him, everything she was.

They had to pull apart to breath just a few seconds later, and he sagged forward, leaning his forehead against hers. “Okay?” she whispered. He nodded.

“Okay,” she confirmed. He saw her eyes glance down, dancing and full of humour, and only then did he become painfully aware of how hard he was, how affected he had been by just a couple of kisses. He closed his eyes, humiliated, one of the best moments of his existence quickly turned to a nightmare.

“A little more than okay, I think,” Lacey teased. “That’s downright flattering.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling away from her and curling his legs up, trying to cover himself. It was hard, lying on his side on top of the covers, but he couldn’t just stay that way, exposed to her gaze. She might smile with understanding, but somewhere inside she had to be laughing at him, at a man so lonely and touch-starved and fucking virginal that two kisses had him hard, like a schoolboy with a crush.

“It’s okay,” she told him, and yes, that was laughter in her voice, but more he thought at his reaction than his body’s betrayal. “When you said you hadn’t done this before, I expected that if things started to go well this might happen. It’s natural.”

“I didn’t expect it,” he admitted. “This… wasn’t exactly my problem, last time.”

“Hmm,” she pushed herself to sit up, crossing her feet under her, tucking her hair behind her ears. He could imagine her right then, cross-legged on the floor of her library, big glasses on her nose and a book in her lap. He’d never had a librarian fetish – or any fetish, for that matter – but if he spent enough time with Lacey he was sure he’d develop one. 

“What happened last time?” she asked. “What were you afraid of? Maybe if we work that out, we can prevent it happening this time.”

“I had an anxiety attack the moment I entered the honeymoon suite,” he shrugged, his eyes closing in mortification at the memory, lying on his back to avoid looking at her and propping his good leg up to hide his crotch. “She was just… lying there, in her underwear, waiting for me. It was too much. I didn’t… I didn’t want to be there. I knew I was going to disappoint her because I had no bloody clue what I was doing, and I’d had a little too much to drink besides. She’s an intimidating woman, my ex-wife, and she doesn’t suffer fools or weaklings. Between the panic and the alcohol, I didn’t stand a chance.”

“Okay,” Lacey nodded, thinking it over. “Well we should start by ruling out the differences, so we know what we’re really up against. You were… you were afraid of her, weren’t you? Your ex?”

Gold squeezed his eyes shut, a rising tide of shame threatening to swallow him whole. “She made clear her expectations,” he said, when he was able to speak in sentences. “And how little I measured up to them. She’s… bigger, and louder than I am. The man she’s with now likes to settle his arguments with his fists. She likes that a lot more than my hiding behind a desk with a pile of contracts.”

“So you’re saying she’s a heinous bitch?” Lacey summarised. “That explains a lot. No one could expect you to enjoy your first time with someone who treated you like shit. Why the hell did you even marry her?”

“I wanted to be in love,” he said. “I wanted to love her so I found things to love. She’s very good-looking, she’s strong and she’s forthright, and I was flattered that such an outspoken, attractive woman would want to spend time with me. When she was in my corner, when I had her approval, I felt like I was worth something.”

“Which meant she could control how you felt about yourself from moment to moment,” Lacey added. “Emotionally punish you when you disobeyed her, and make you desperate to please her so you could feel safe again.”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“And you’re blaming yourself for what happened on your honeymoon?” Lacey demanded. “She was emotionally abusing you, taking your self-esteem and your confidence on purpose to manipulate and control you, making you feel like you were nothing, and still she had the gall to expect you to suddenly become a hyper-confident sex god the moment you had a ring on your finger? Heinous bitch doesn’t even cover it!”

“Red,” he begged, unable to listen to another word. “Red, please. I… I know marrying her was a mistake. I know that. And my son has said all of this before. It’s just… it’s like reliving it. Please.”

“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. Her eyes were still flashing, and he felt touched that her anger was genuine, that she apparently cared enough that the thought of Mila’s abuse made her this upset. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Isaac, I got carried away. I shouldn’t have done that, it’s not my place. We won’t mention her again, okay?”

“Thank you,” he said. 

“I just need to make sure… you’re not intimidated by me, right? You’re not afraid of me?”

“Only in the sense that I think any sensible man would be,” he said, managing a smile. “You’re something of a force of nature, you know. Heaven help the man who gets in your way.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she smiled, her dimples showing yet again, washing away the painful memories so recently dredged up. “But I meant in a way that feels like it did with her. You’re not afraid of my disapproval, right?”

“I’m afraid of anyone’s disapproval,” he sighed. “I’m afraid of most things, most of the time. But… no, I’m not afraid of you. I trust you. I believe you’ll forgive me if I transgress.”

“There are no transgressions here,” she assured him. “A huge part of my job is creating a safe space for clients to feel like they can be themselves. You’re safe here. There’s no punishment forthcoming, no consequence for a wrong turn.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll… it’s hard to remember, but I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” she said, reassuring him with another warm smile. “Okay, so emotionally things are already better. How about the physical factors? You’ve only had that one scotch at the bar, yes? And a burger and tea since then, so that isn’t a factor unless you’re a total lightweight.”

“I can hold my liquor,” he said, curtly. “Thank you very much.”

She dimpled again, lip between her teeth. He wanted to kiss her again, even more so now that he knew what it would feel like. He thought that kissing her might well become an addiction, one he’d never be able to slake again after tonight. 

“Are you anxious right now?” she asked, then. “Do you feel an attack coming on?”

“Not… not right at this second,” he said. “Although it doesn’t always give a helpful warning. I’m just a panicky bastard, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” she admonished. “Anxiety is the most common mental health issue in the US, did you know that? It’s something to be managed and worked through, not shoved aside and apologised for.”

“I… okay,” he said, when her face brooked no argument. “Okay.”

“Good,” she said, her smile returning. He felt a rush of something like pride at having pleased her, warm under her gaze, but without the anxiety about failing again that he’d always felt with Mila. “If you begin to feel anxious, I trust you to use the safe words. And you know you can trust me to respect them if you do. If we can conquer the fear of failure that’s causing the anxiety, we’ll be most of the way there.”

“It’s not an unfounded fear, you know. Virgin men don’t tend to be particularly good lovers. It isn’t as if one’s right hand gives feedback, or requires pleasure of its own.”

“Good point,” she admitted, considering it. “ But those skills are learned. Believe it or not, virgin women don’t tend to be good at sex either, when left to figure it out on their own. Even couples with plenty of experience between them can require several attempts before getting it right, especially if they can’t communicate and don’t feel free to make mistakes.”

“So this is just doomed to be a terrible experience?” he asked, glumly. Lacey shut him up with a hard look.

“You might not know what you’re doing, but I promise you that I do. As long as we communicate, this can be a good night for both of us. After all, I am clearly not a virgin,” she said. That brought a wry smile to his lips.

“That’d be some trick to pull off,” he muttered. She winked.

“Shut up or I’ll start singing Madonna at you,” she threatened. “And you won’t enjoy that at all. In fact, if you want something to kill that boner dead…” She took a deep breath, and sang in the most horribly off-key voice he’d ever heard, “Like a virgiiiiiiin, touched for the very first tiiiiiiime! Like a-”

He surged to sit up, and clamped his hand over her mouth to silence her, needing nothing more than for the noise to stop. “Okay, okay,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

She giggled behind his hand, and kissed his fingers. He removed his hand slowly, but instead of returning to his side it ended up tangled in her mass of curls, hauling her mouth back against his. He couldn’t get enough of kissing her, and this time he attempted her trick, parting her lips with his tongue and teasing hers with it. That elicited a happy little noise from her, and for a moment they were both content to just kiss, and to learn how the other wished to be kissed.

When they pulled apart, for a moment his dazed eyes met hers. The look that flashed there, shot up from under her eyelashes, was nothing short of carnal. Gold swallowed, hard, but for the first time it didn’t make him want to run. 

She giggled under her breath at her own antics, and shifted back just a little, giving him room to breathe. 

“Are you always like this?” he asked, his mind still unfocused, overwhelmed by her. 

“Like what?” she asked.

“So… free,” he said, trying to find the words. 

“That’s an interesting question,” she said, running a hand through her hair, further tangling her already mussed curls. “I don’t know. I think it’s different when men come in with some prior idea of who they expect me to be. Most clients have some prior image formed of what they need – a trophy girlfriend, the girl-next-door with a wild side, you know, something to latch onto. Once you work out what someone wants, tailoring the experience isn’t hard. But I don’t think you were expecting anything. I don’t even think you knew what to want, when you walked into the bar tonight. So maybe I’m just compensating.”

“I thought… I panicked when I thought that Cara woman was here to see me,” he admitted. Lacey burst out laughing. “I certainly wasn’t expecting her.”

“Oh, good Lord,” she gasped. “No, she’d literally eat you alive. She terrifies me, I have no idea what she’d do to someone with even a modicum of uncertainty.”

“I wasn’t expecting you,” he said. It trailed off her laughter, and she tilted her head to one side, considering him. “I suppose I thought… I don’t know, I suppose I had some image in my head of something between a hooker stereotype and a psychiatrist. Someone business-like, and artificial.”

“Are you calling me unprofessional, Mr Gold?” she asked, teasingly. 

“You’re so real,” he said, reaching out and taking her hand, needing to feel her skin against his, warm and firm and present. “So genuine. You think something’s right so you just do it, no hesitation, no worrying about what might happen. When something goes wrong you just… work around it, find a new angle, and keep moving forward. It’s incredible; you’re incredible. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“I… don’t really know what to say to that,” she said, her head ducking away. He just watched her for a moment, tracing the lines and planes of her face, trying to commit her to memory. “It’s my gorgeous singing voice, isn’t it?” she said, after a moment, startling a laugh from him. “It’s seduced many men before, you know. I’m a goddamn siren.”

“I think, sweetheart, that your singing might be the only non-seductive thing about you.” The endearment slipped out without his conscious thought, and for a moment he froze, hoping she hadn’t noticed, hoping she wouldn’t mind.

“I knew you couldn’t resist my wiles for long,” she smirked, tossing her hair behind one shoulder and fluttering her eyelashes. 

“Mm,” he hummed, “it was the burger, really. Any woman who can swallow a cheeseburger the way a python swallows an antelope…”

She laughed again. “It’s a gift, really,” she said. “And – hey! Look who’s relaxed,” she nodded down to his lack of a hard-on. “See? You just have to breathe, and focus on me. This is going to be okay.”

“You’re just an excellent distraction,” he muttered. “Between the Grammy-worthy musicality and the gastronomics.”

“I don’t think ‘gastronomics’ is a word,” she corrected, “A-plus for effort, though.”

“You’re clearly going to be an excellent librarian,” he said. “You’re already practicing. Next you’ll shush me for speaking too loud.”

“God, Mal would kill herself laughing if she knew I was correcting a client’s vocabulary,” she groaned. “I mean it’s hardly sexy, is it? I can’t say ‘obnoxious know-it-all’ is my most attractive quality.”

“Depends on your point of view,” Gold shrugged, his voice low. She caught his eye, and a slow smile spread across her face.

“Oh, you want me to talk literary to you?” she teased, inching closer, crowding him back against the pillows so he was forced to lie on his back with her leaning over him. An hour ago this position would have given him a panic attack, but right then he only hoped she was going to lean in further, and press her breasts to his chest. The cherry scent of her hair, her warmth and her proximity, made his heart rate pick up again and his breathing quicken. This time, he was almost certain it was desire rather than terror. 

“Euphony,” she purred, her lips close to his ear, “caesura, enjambment.”

“Keep that up, and I might develop a librarian fantasy before the night is over,” he muttered. “Did you swallow a thesaurus?”

“Not the only thing I’m capable of swallowing,” she teased, and then kissed his earlobe, the combination of image and action making him shiver all over. She chuckled, her voice low and full of bad ideas. “How’s that filthy librarian thing coming?”

“Swimmingly,” he ground out. “You might be ruining me for life.”

“That is the general idea,” she said, grinning ear-to-ear. She kissed his jaw, traced a path with her lips down his neck, nipping and sucking at his skin here and there as he writhed beneath her. 

His flagging erection returned in full force, and when she moved one leg over to straddle him he knew she had to feel it beneath her. He swallowed hard, and tried to remember her command not to feel embarrassed by his body’s reactions. It was natural. And it was so much better than the bitter, empty frustration of trying to reach this point and failing.

“I don’t…” he gasped, and she instantly moved her lips away, looking down at him with warm, questioning eyes. “I don’t want to be a disappointment,” he confessed, with a glare down to his tightened pants. Lacey considered the situation for a moment.

“Realistically speaking, no matter how familiar you are with your right hand, the first time is going to be overwhelming,” she said, and he nodded, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “But that doesn’t mean we have to stop there. Women might be better at multiple consecutive orgasms, but that doesn’t mean men are one-and-done.”

Gold’s brain had flat-lined somewhere around ‘orgasms’, and he was gaping at her, scrambling to catch up. “Colour?” she asked, cautiously. He swallowed.

“Green,” he said. “Just… I’m not following?”

“Okay, so I have an idea,” she said, continuing on with a little more confidence. “How about we do the hard part first? As in, the you-inside-me part?”

“What?” he gasped, his voice strangled as he propped himself up on his elbows to stare at her. “But… I won’t last two minutes, and-“

“That’s the point,” she said. “That’s the part that’s scaring you, isn’t it? You’re convinced that it’ll be empty, and soulless, and over in moments and leave us both unhappy. And you’re so scared of that, aren’t you sweetheart?” she stroked his face and he leaned into her touch as she echoed his endearment from earlier. “You’re not just afraid of being unhappy, you’re afraid of making me unhappy. But you won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Are you happy now?” she asked. “Leaving aside the sex issue, or any expectations you might have. Here, in this bed, with me, are you happy?”

“I’m… I’m not unhappy,” he confessed, and her smile could have lit up the east coast.

“See? Think how much better that’ll be with an orgasm mixed in. Endorphin city.”

“But that doesn’t seem fair to you,” he said, frowning. “What if I fall asleep? Or, or what if I panic and go soft and-“

Her hand snaked down between them, and took him by surprise by cupping him through his slacks. He gasped and bucked into her hand, as she worked him expertly through the fabric. “I promise you,” she breathed, “that as long as you focus on me, ‘soft’ isn’t going to be an issue.”

“And if it happens anyway?” he challenged. She shrugged, and grinned.

“Then I’ll teach you how to go down on me and do it properly, and no woman will ever worry about whether you’re going to get in her or not ever again.”

The thought of that made his whole brain short-circuit. His mouth went dry, his heart pounded in his chest, the world spinning as the anxiety knocked him breathless. “Yellow,” he said. “Yellow.”

“Okay, okay,” she slid off him and curled up at his side in a moment, the physical contact restricted to her hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, what’s the matter?”

“I don’t know if… if I want to do that. I don’t know. I’m sorry. I just don’t know. I might but it’s a lot and it’s really fast and I just…. I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” she soothed, “sorry, I moved way too fast. We don’t have to do that if you don’t want to. I was just thinking of things we could do instead. We could also forget the whole idea and watch a movie, or talk some more, or just kiss. Whatever you want.”

“It’s just a lot,” he said. “Can we just go one step at a time?”

“Of course,” she said, “of course, as slow as you want. Would it help to get undressed first? Get used to the idea?”

“Yes,” he agreed, “Yes, okay. That sounds like a logical first step.”

“Do you want to undress me?” she asked. He looked at her, all pale flushed skin and tumbling chestnut curls, and his anxiety fell prey to the desire that reared its head again.

“Yes,” he breathed, and she beamed at him, encouraged by his response. 

“The zipper’s at the back,” she explained, shifting to sit up and turn around on her knees. She gathered the soft mass of her hair up in one hand out of the way, and Gold reached up, and brought his trembling, reverent hands to her zipper, pulling it down slowly, entranced by every inch of creamy skin revealed. 

Emboldened, he pressed a kiss to the top of her spine, and heard her gasp in surprise. He tried again, and again, following the length of her spine where it was revealed by the parted fabric, and the way she shivered did more for his anxiety than any reassurance could have. Surely she couldn’t feign that physical reaction? She wasn’t moving away, at the very least.


	5. Chapter 5

Gold’s lips reached the small of Lacey’s back, and she shrugged her shoulders, slipping out of the sleeves of her dress. She slipped out of his hands, sliding to the edge of the bed to remove the dress entirely, allowing it to drop to the floor in a puddle at her feet. He traced his eyes over her sender shoulders, her narrow waist; the outline of her ribcage and the swell of her backside. 

She turned to face him, and the trepidation on her faced turned to a smirk when she caught him staring. “Enjoying the view?”

Gold wanted to reply to her, to say something suave and witty to meet her on her level, but his brain had stammered to a halt at the sight before him. Lacey’s underwear amounted to a scrap of black fabric between her legs, and a matching bra that accentuated rather than concealed her small breasts. He had the sudden stray thought that they looked just the right size for his hands. Her creamy skin was set off to perfection by the smooth black lace and satin, her hair lustrous and tumbling over her shoulders. She had gone from princess to pin-up in two seconds, and his mind scrambled at the change, at the image she presented.

She cocked her hip and braced her hand there, allowing him to look his fill. He was damned if he could form sentences at that moment, much less say them to the goddess standing before him.

“Okay, now I’m getting worried,” she said lightly, after a long moment had passed. “I just need to check that this is good staring and not an anxiety attack. Or a stroke.” 

“G-good staring,” he stammered, trying desperately to unscramble his brain. It was no good: the moment his eyes landed back on the flat plane of her stomach, the smooth curves of her breasts and hips, the red of her lips… any part of her at all, in fact, all coherent thought was banished. “Very good. You’re… you’re stunning, Lacey.”

“Thank you,” she smiled and got back on the bed, crawling to him and laying down beside him on her side. “You can touch as well as look, you know,” she hinted, when he continued to stare. “I don’t bite. Well,” she corrected, a wicked gleam entering her eyes, “Not without permission, at least.”

Gold barely heard her. At the reminder that he was allowed to touch this magnificent creature, whatever was left of his sanity had slipped entirely. “Where…” he swallowed hard, his voice hoarse and strained. “Where would you like to be touched?”

Her eyes widened, and he had the uncomfortable thought that maybe, just maybe, she had never actually been asked that before. It was gone as quickly as it had come, and her expression returned to that kind, patient sweetness he had come to expect. “You want to start slow,” she told him, her voice soft and deep, mesmerising. She took his hand, and led him to gently stroke her neck, her shoulders, across her collarbones. “Warm me up a little. Get me used to being touched; make me want to be touched elsewhere. When you feel it’s right, kiss where you’ve been touching. Make me want to be kissed elsewhere.”

“Is… is it always this slow?” he asked, as he traced shaking fingers down to dip over her clavicle, brushing her hair over one shoulder to bare her neck. She shivered when he stroked her pulse point, and he wondered if she would enjoy a kiss there. He knew she would welcome the attempt, but a larger part of him wanted to follow her lead, and find out what wonders she would lead him to. 

“The first time it’s good to go slow,” she said, her voice like silk as she all but purred, warming to her theme. “Think of sex like fire. There’re so many different ways for things to burn, but in the end it’s the same basic chemical reaction.”

“Like fire?” he asked, an old memory from Neal’s childhood occurring out of nowhere. “Hellfire?”

“If you want to get all Catholic about it,” she snickered. “It takes some brass balls for a man to quote Disney’s creepiest villain song in the bedroom.”

“Propriety isn’t the first thing on my mind just now,” he murmured, and then he did dare to kiss her throat, right where his hand had been. She shivered; her skin was soft and warm beneath his lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” she said, and when he looked up a warm smile had spread across her face. “I told you that you were brave.”

“Keep going,” he begged, kissing her throat again, a little higher, closer to her jaw. He needed her to talk so that he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to use his mouth for talking, or for anything except for kissing her. He didn’t want to use his mind for anything else, either. To surface for air would be to panic, to bolt, to ruin this perfect moment with fear and self-doubt. Lacey deserved better than that. In a way, perhaps so did he. “Sex is like fire?”

“Kissing is like lighting a candle,” she continued. “A steady burn, as long or as short as you need it to be, and over as quickly as it starts. A fast, hard fuck is a firework show. It’s spectacular, it’s hot and bright and explosive, but it’s over quickly. But when you go hot and slow… ah, then you’re building a bonfire. It takes work to do it right, you have to build a foundation, wait for the wood to light, but when it starts to burn it can go for hours.”

“Hours?” he repeated. His mouth rested against the corner of her jaw, and she nodded, her hand carding into his hair to hold him close.

“Hours,” she said, her voice a hoarse promise. “You’re a natural, you know,” she added, “I didn’t even have to tell you about the pulse point. That’s not an erogenous zone many find on the first try.”

“You shivered when I stroked it,” he said. “I figured a kiss would do more than my fingers could.”

“That’s all there is to it,” she assured him. “Just paying attention to your partner’s responses, and going from there. That’s how you learn to please someone: by noticing what pleases them, and going with that. There’s no match for an intelligent partner who pays attention.”

“Now what?” he begged, needing direction, her words, her wishes, anything at all she would give him.

“Now you get to go lower,” she said. He glanced down her body, his mouth drying at the sight of her breasts in their silky cups. “Same as before,” she added, bringing his face to meet hers, her hand on his cheek. She kissed him slowly, thoroughly, and he knew how to turn his head this time to avoid her teeth as she plundered his mouth. When they parted, she was smiling. “Hold on,” she said, and he moved aside instantly, giving him room as she sat up a little and expertly unhooked her bra. She pulled it down her arms, and threw it to join her dress on the floor. “There,” she said, settling back against the pillows, now clad only in her knickers. “Much better.”

Gold suddenly felt ridiculous, sitting on the bed in his full three-piece suit, overheated and sweaty. “Can I... can I undress a little?” he asked. Lacey’s eyes lit up.

“Can I help?” she returned. His gaze slipped from her eyes to her mouth to her bare breasts and back again, and all he could do was nod. Lacey sat up on the bed, and shifted down to kneel in front of him, so she could help with the buttons of his waistcoat as he shrugged off his jacket. Her hands stroked over his chest, his stomach and his shoulders, and all of a sudden Gold was cripplingly self-conscious again. He was tiny, scrawny even, pigeon-chested and lean, and he knew that – for what little it was worth – he looked far better in his suits than out of them. 

She got him out of his waistcoat, and tricked him out of his tie by pulling him in for a searing kiss as she undid the knot and cast it aside. He felt her hands on his buttons when he wrenched himself away, and gasped out, “Yellow.”

“Okay,” she pulled back immediately, her eyes full of concern. “Yellow?” she checked. “Or red?”

“One step at a time,” he begged. “I… I’m not much to look at. I’m middle-aged and I haven’t been to a gym in… well, I’ve never been to the gym.”

“If I told you I think you’re devastatingly handsome, would you believe a word of it?” she asked, biting her lip. And oh, he wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that this stunningly beautiful, bright, kind, extraordinary young woman thought him handsome. And so did every other man she’d ever said that to, by his reckoning, and all of them at the same price he’d paid to hear it too.

“You have to say that,” he said. “And I’m not seeking false compliments.”

“You said you trusted me,” she reminded him. “And I promised not to lie to you.”

“I… I know what I am,” he said. “I know how I look. Please can… can we leave it at that?”

“Of course,” she agreed. “But I do hope we can make you comfortable enough to get the rest off. That’s a lovely shirt, but I’m certain what’s under it makes for an even better view.”

“Nothing compared to what I’m looking at,” he replied, his eyes fixed firmly on hers. She smiled, and lay back on the covers, spreading her arms to create a tableau more at home in an erotic magazine than Gold’s reality.

“Then focus on me,” she said. “Start by touching, like before. You did so well on my throat and my shoulders, do the same to my breasts. Start by touching, then move on to using your mouth.”

“Where?” he pleaded. She shook her head.

“Start around the edges, warm me up,” she said. “The tops and sides are less sensitive, the undersides and nipples especially are far more. Work your way up.”

He nodded, his hands shaking with nerves and desire as he braced himself on one arm, side by side with her, and with his free hand stroked the outside of her right breast. She sighed, shifting, her eyes closing. “A little firmer,” she instructed, her voice soft and dreamy. “You want something between tickling and a medical exam.”

He snorted at that, but did as she asked, pressing a little firmer as he traced the outline of her breast. Her skin was incredibly soft under his hand, and he couldn’t help himself: he cupped the whole weight in his palm, gently kneading her softness, his mouth aching to taste the hardening peak.

“That’s good,” she breathed. “But not quite so hard, just a little less pressure… there,” she sighed, when he immediately did as she asked. “Yes, that’s good. Light but firm, you see?”

“Yes,” he said. “Yes I see.”

“Good,” she said. “Now the other, just the same. Your instincts are good,” she added. “You’re doing so well.”

“You have to say that,” he accused. “You’re supposed to build my confidence.”

“Some physical reactions can’t be feigned,” she told him, nodding down to her now-abandoned right breast and its turgid peak. “See? It’s plenty warm in here, so that’s your doing. It’s so sensitive now: when you touch it I’ll feel so good. But not yet,” she added, forestalling his immediate move to do just that. “First get the other into the same condition. Make me yearn for it. Build me up.”

“Like a bonfire,” he said. She hummed in agreement.

“Exactly.” Her voice was a little strained as he used the pressure she had advised to gently squeeze and stroke her left breast. He was achingly hard in his pants, certain that the lightest touch would finish him off, but the focus required in pleasing Lacey allowed him to somewhat ignore his own need. 

A faint sheen of sweat had appeared on her collarbone when he succeeded in hardening her second nipple. Her eyes had closed, but they fluttered open when he traced the peak of her right breast with one finger. “What do you want to do, Isaac?” she asked him, her voice low and rich. “Go on, I’m ready now.”

His fingers closed over the nipple and drew on it gently, as firm as he dared but probably still far too light. Lacey moaned at the sensation, and he repeated it on the other side, switching between the two until her back arched slightly, pressing her breasts into his hands.

“Can I kiss you now?” he begged. It was so much easier with instructions, without having to worry that he was doing something wrong. He could focus on her, on doing as he was asked, and not on how vulnerable he felt having someone so close or having his guard down so completely. Real or imagined, this was already far better a response than he’d ever gotten from Mila. She nodded.

“Yes, please,” she panted. Permission granted, he leaned in and captured one hard bud in his mouth, sucking a little before pulling back and away. He winced as it caught on his teeth as he released her, desperately worried he’d hurt her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, I-“

“No, no,” she held up a hand to halt his apologies, gazing down at him with bright, fervent eyes. “Do that again, including the teeth,” she said. “Don’t suck quite so hard, and use your tongue a little.”

He did as she bade, groaning low in his throat at the sensation of her hard nipple against his tongue, and felt her shake beneath him. He plucked at her breast as he had her mouth, the same technique she had taught him there working wonders now. 

“The other,” she panted, “Use your hand on the other!”

Her fingers clutched at his hair, lightly scratching his scalp as he brought his fingers to work at her other breast, focusing all his effort on matching the movements. 

“Ow!” she pulled him away gently, and his face fell. “Sorry,” she said, “Just… a little less pressure?”

“I’m sorry,” he moved back to sit beside her, out of the way where he could do no more harm. “I’m sorry, I’m-“

“Don’t apologise,” she said, holding his hands still to keep him close. “You’re doing wonderfully. I just got caught by surprise, that’s all.”

“I hurt you,” he said, hanging his head. “I didn’t think that would happen.”

“This is how sex usually is the first time,” she shrugged, with a grin. “Elbows and knees. My first time, the guy I was with fell off the bed reaching for a condom and chipped a tooth on the bedside table.”

“Was he alright?” Gold asked, imagining such an incident and wincing. Lacey shrugged.

“He claimed he was fine, I think he thought if he didn’t do it then I’d leave and not come back. He got back to it, finished, and then started crying in pain. I spent the rest of my night in the ER.”

“That’s a fairly low bar to meet,” Gold noted. “As far as bad experiences go, I mean.”

“Exactly,” Lacey said. “So a slightly over-enthusiastic pinch is hardly a disaster.”

“Do you… want me to start again?” Gold asked. Lacey cocked her head to one side. 

“How are you doing?” she asked. “Do you want to keep doing this? Or do you want to press on?”

“I…” it was on the tip of his tongue to say he still wasn’t ready, that it was hopeless, panic building again at the thought of actually completing the act. Then Lacey smiled up at him, her hair a chestnut halo around her head, her breasts now covered in little red marks and their peaks hard from his mouth, and he couldn’t find any panic left in him. She was resilient, and endlessly bright, and for now he could even believe that she wanted this – that she wanted him. She wouldn’t hurt him, or push him, or judge him. She wouldn’t let him screw up. She would catch him if he fell: she was so good at that.

“Can we?” he asked, his voice so small he barely heard it. Her smile bloomed on her face, her dimples appearing yet again, and he couldn’t help it: he swooped down and kissed her again, deeply, adoring the little surprised, happy noise she made and her hands once again tangled in his hair. 

“Of course,” she said, as they parted, her forehead touched to his.

“Do you need…” he coughed, suddenly uncomfortable, pulling back a little and looking at her handbag on the table by the door.

“Protection?” Lacey guessed. He squirmed a little, not wanting to ask the question but needing it out there.

“That and… you said you had some sort of lubricant? Do you need that too? I don’t mind I just… I know women need to be wet to enjoy sex and-“

“Usually, yes,” she said, cutting him off with three gentle fingertips against his mouth. “But not now. I’m more than ready for you without special measures.”

“I won’t be offended,” he added, hastily. “I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“I know,” she said, her voice sweet and soft, soothing. “I know, sweetheart. That’s a large part of the reason I don’t need it, in fact.”

“I’m sure every client wants to believe that,” he said, unable to take her at her word no matter how much he might want to. There was no way his clumsy ministrations and messy kisses could be enough to make her wet.

“They do,” she agreed. “And now would be the time I’d excuse myself to the bathroom to apply said lubricant. But I promised not to lie to you, remember? And you’ve taken far more time on my pleasure than the average client.”

“You’re sure?” he asked, desperate to believe her. She nodded, and then bit her lower lip, her eyes thoughtful.

Her hand slid down her stomach, and he watched in awe as she slipped her fingers beneath the barrier of her knickers and touched herself. Her eyes fell closed, and a gasp left her lips as her hips bucked into her hand. She withdrew her fingers a moment later, her eyes hooded as she held them up to the light. A sheen of moisture had collected there, clear as day. “See?” 

“F-for me?” he asked, stunned. She nodded, her lip between her teeth.

“See for yourself,” she purred, taking his unresisting wrist in her hand, and guiding his hand down to where hers had been, sliding over the smooth expanse of her stomach and into her underwear. He was stunned at the first touch of his fingers to her folds, waxed smooth and incredibly hot and slick, and his wide eyes met hers to find a lazy grin awaiting him.

“See?” she said, again. “A little firmer,” she added, when he didn’t withdraw his hand. “Press one finger between- yes, like that, oh, yes, that’s good…” her head rolled back on the pillows, her hips rocking against his fingers, seeking more friction. He kept touching her, sliding down further until he met her entrance. She moaned when his fingertip dipped inside by accident, and if he had thought she was hot and wet outside it was nothing compared to what awaited within. He was worried he might climax in his pants at just the sensation of her around his finger.

“Inside,” she gasped, “just press in, there… ahhh!” He worked his finger inside, and groaned at the sensation. She was tight around his finger, but he had no doubts she could take more if needs be. On instinct, he worked his finger in and out of her, a shallow mimicry of the act itself, and she shifted underneath him, hips bucking impatiently. “Another,” she moaned, and he added his index finger, filling her better than one finger alone had. “N-now,” she managed, swallowing hard, “Move your thumb to the very top, and inch down until you find a little nub.”

“The clitoris?” he checked, and she nodded.

“Yes, you should be able to find it- there!” Gold’s thumb rested against her clit, and she rubbed herself against it, setting up a rhythm she seemed to enjoy. “A little harder,” she panted. “Let it rub as your fingers move, please… ah, please!”

He did as commanded, his fingers working harder and faster in and out of her, her fluids leaking out over his hand as he rubbed her clit in time with his thrusts. She was clawing at the bed now, and he couldn’t believe what he was seeing: she was writhing beneath him, dripping on his fingers, little whimpers falling from her mouth as her hips rocked in time with his fingers. She was like this because of him: this extraordinary creature was panting and moaning in pleasure because of him. He forgot his fear, his anxiety, and his misery. They were meaningless in the face of such a wonder. If she felt this good on his fingers, he couldn’t imagine how good she would feel on his cock.

“M-my breasts,” she moaned, “Do… like before.”

Gold didn’t have to be told twice. He returned his mouth to her nipple with abandon, bracing himself over her with his free arm so he could awkwardly suck and lave at her breast. He worried at it lightly with his teeth, remembering how she had enjoyed that before, the scrape of his teeth, and she clenched around his fingers. 

“I’m close,” she moaned. “I’m close.”

“What can I do?” he begged, her nipple slipping from his mouth. “What should I do?”

“Another finger,” she said, and he did as she asked, adding a third finger to the two already drenched in her juices. “And rub harder, and… kiss me?” she asked, as if he would resist, as if it were a question. He kissed her deeply, swallowing her moans as he redoubled his efforts on her clit, his fingers thrusting hard and fast into her, his whole world reduced to the hot, tight wetness around his hand and her sweet lips against his, her hands clawing in his hair and the press of her damp breasts against his shirt. His cock ached, iron-hard and pressing painfully against his pants, and he bit down hard on the inside of his mouth to keep from coming off there and then. He wanted to be inside her, when that happened. He wanted to know what this would feel like with her wrapped around him, her sweet body joined with his in the deepest possible way. 

Then her body tensed beneath him, her hips rocking and her channel clenching hard around his fingers over and over as she cried out against his mouth in pleasure. He watched as it happened, her climax overcoming her and her whole body trembling with it. She couldn’t have feigned that, surely? Her face was contorted in pleasure, his hand soaked and slick from her juices. She shook in aftershock as he withdrew his fingers, and wiped them on the bed beside her.

“Damn,” she sighed, her eyes blinking open, hazy and dark with pleasure. “I told you that you were a natural.”

“Did you just… did I…?” She nodded, grinning.

“I couldn’t fake that,” she told him. “You felt that, didn’t you? You just gave me an orgasm with just your fingers, and a damn good one at that.”

“Can we… can I… can we do it now?” he asked, awkwardly, unable to consider waiting even another second. He was riding high on the memory of her clenching and lost around his hand, her mouth against his, drunk on her need for him in that moment and the sated look in her eyes now. It had to be now, or he may never have the courage again. 

“Yes,” she said, fervently. “God, yes.” She pushed on his chest to scramble upright, and then looked at her hand on his body. “Take off as much as you’re comfortable with,” she instructed. “I’ll get the condoms.”

He nodded, his hands already working on his shirt buttons. He watched her pad across the room and bend to reach her handbag, her hips swaying, her pert backside showcased to perfection in those tiny lace knickers. Her legs were a little shaky from her climax. He’d done that to her, he thought. He’d made her hair mussed and wild, her legs tremble, and her folds drip. 

The next part didn’t seem so terrifying now, with that behind him. Against all odds, she had come first, and she had done so with his pants still on. Mila had been wrong: he was apparently more than capable of pleasuring a woman, and doing so well enough to give a seasoned escort an orgasm. He would last all of two seconds inside of her, but what a glorious two seconds it would be.

His shirt joined his jacket and waistcoat on the floor, and his belt soon followed. He had to turn away from her to stand on the other side of the bed and remove his trousers, folding them and placing them atop the rest. He squeezed his eyes shut against an unwelcome rush of anxiety when it came to removing his boxers, but he shoved it aside. She was already naked, and if this was to happen he wanted to feel as much as he could. His silk boxers were not conducive to that, so they had to go. He sat back down, and removed his socks. 

He was naked, exposed, and if she were going to damage him beyond repair now would be the time. But when he turned back to face her, she was naked as well. Her soaked knickers had been discarded somewhere on the floor, and her whole focus was on her right breast. Or rather, her focus was on trying to balance the little foil condom packet on top of her hardened nipple, her face a mask of intense concentration.

“Sorry,” she giggled, when she caught him watching. “I didn’t think you’d feel comfortable with me staring, however lovely your arse might be. So I distracted myself.”

“You’re amazing,” he murmured, returning to join her on the bed, trying to ignore the welling humiliation of having his hard cock waving comically between his legs. “I’m a nervous wreck and you’re making jokes.”

“Two things,” she said. “First, I’m a professional – or, I will be until noon tomorrow – so of course I’m going to be more relaxed about this than you are. Second, my circus skills are no joke. I think I could go pro with this,” she gestured to the condom now balanced perfectly on her breast, and he couldn’t help a childish snicker.

“I’m sure they’d be lining up to see that,” he told her, his eyes once again fixed on her breasts, unable to look away. “Although I doubt anyone would be focusing on the balancing act.”

“Have you always been such a breast man?” she asked, curiously. He shrugged.

“I’m learning all sorts of new things about myself tonight,” he replied. “I came in with nothing, and I’ll leave a ‘breast man’ with a serious librarian fetish.”

“All part of the service,” she grinned, and then glanced down at his member, now revealed in all its aching, purple glory between his legs. “Okay, now I know your ex was certifiably insane,” she said.

“Excuse me?” he said, his voice strained with the effort not to cover himself or bolt. She was about to have it inside her, he reminded himself, she deserved the right to look first. 

“Well you’re not uncomfortably big,” she said, “but that’s a perfectly respectable size, certainly nothing to sneer at. Plenty of my clients would kill for a cock like that.”

He blushed furiously at the assessment, even as he felt a certain unaccustomed masculine pride bloom somewhere inside him. “I wouldn’t know,” he muttered, unable to look her in the eye.

“Of course, it’s about what you do with it,” she said, fairly. “But still, you’re starting from an excellent place there.”

“Another thing you say to every client?” he asked. She shrugged, and giggled.

“Well, yes,” she admitted. “It’s always good form to find a way to work ‘oh, good heavens, what a massive dick you have!’ into the conversation somewhere.” He found himself chuckling at that, if only at the exaggerated, girlish tone she had adopted. “But I’m serious here. Trust me, okay? If I wanted I could massage your ego just fine without resorting to lies, but we both know you wouldn’t want that.”

“If you massage anything right now I’ll probably die,” he told her, honestly, and her deep, rich laugh sent a shot right down his spine.

“Fair point,” she said. “Can… can I ask a weird question?”

“Because everything so far has been so normal?” he asked, eyebrow raised. She snorted.

“Fair,” she said again. “I just… I didn’t know it was common practice to circumsize in Scotland. I thought that was more of an American thing.”

“It’s not,” he said, thrown a little by the question. “Except in Jewish families.”

“You’re Jewish?” Lacey asked.

“My mother was,” he said, reluctantly. “But I didn’t… I never knew her. She died before I could talk. I grew up with my father’s family, and they were all Presbyterian.” He swallowed hard, not wanting to elaborate further. He’d been the only Jewish child in school, even his name marker of difference among a sea of Frasers, Ewans and Rabs. “Sorry can we… can we get back to it?” he begged. She nodded, tactfully letting the subject drop.

“Okay, so who do you want on top?” she asked, getting back to business. “Do you want to control things, or would you rather I set the pace?”

“You,” he pleaded, “Please? I don’t want to get this wrong.”

“The chances of that are very slim, I suspect,” she said. “But okay. Lie back,” she eased him onto his back with her hand on his shoulder, and kissed him gently as a reward for his obedience. Now, I’ll roll this on, and then I’ll mount you, okay? You can lie still or thrust or whatever feels right to you. Don’t worry about me: this is about you.”

“You should have what you want,” he said, then groaned as she rolled the condom expertly onto his cock, just the light brush of her hand following the latex making him jump out of his skin. “You should have everything, everything good in the world.”

She didn’t reply to that. There was an odd look in her eyes when he caught her gaze, something deep and contemplative and sad, and out of place with everything else he knew of her. There was someone else beneath her skin, he thought, and he wondered about that other girl for just a moment before her hand distracted him, wrapping firmly around his cock to line them up, and her legs straddled him once again.

This time, he wasn’t afraid. This time he was desperate, needing to be inside her, to please her, to feel her around him, more than he needed to breathe. 

He howled as she sank down onto him, his neck arching with pleasure that bordered on pain as her hot, tight, wet entrance enveloped him inch by inch, until he was sunk inside her as deep as he could go. She was so beautiful, braced over him with her hair surrounding them on all sides, creating a safe, warm, beautiful little space where it was just him and her, just them, no one to hurt him, no one to take her away. Just the two of them, joined as deeply as two people could be, and he was a fool, just the sort of fool he swore he wouldn’t be. He was buried to the hilt in her wonders, and she was moving, just her hips, her face inches from his, her breasts brushing his chest, rocking up and down against him, and all he could think was that he loved her. Whoever she was, whatever her real name, he loved her. 

He kissed her instead of say it, and she rocked her hips again, riding him, her delicious, tight heat surrounding him, sending him higher and higher and he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t imagine anything or anyone but her, her eyes and her smile and her laugh and her skin, her sharp mind and her kind soul and her bright heart and her, just her, surrounding him and telling him it was okay, he was safe, he’d done so well, her sweetheart, he could come, he should come, she wanted him to come…

Pleasure lanced through him, his hips jerking up wildly as he was consumed by it, every nerve ending and sinew and inch of his skin singing with pleasure as lights burst behind his eyes, and he rode out the best orgasm of his life inside her, with Lacey pressing kisses to his temples, his closed eyes, his cheeks and his jaw and his lips. 

“There,” she murmured, stroking his hair as he came down from his high, and began to soften inside her. “See? Not a horrid disappointment.”

“We did it,” he murmured in total disbelief. “I… we had sex.”

“Yes we did,” she grinned, kissing him again. “See? When you’re relaxed and you communicate, it can be pretty great.”

“It can be amazing,” he breathed. “That… you’re amazing.”

She gave a little bow on top of him, resting her weight on her knees as he slid out of her. She hopped off him, and went to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. When she returned he hadn’t moved. He was staring at her in awe, unable to believe what had just happened. He’d had sex. He’d had sex with an amazing, beautiful, kind woman, and they were both still smiling at the end of it. 

“You okay?” she asked, grinning, as she clambered back onto the bed. “You look a little fuck-struck.”

“That’s… apt,” he agreed. “What time is it?”

She checked the clock on the table, “Just past eleven,” she said. “We could get a little sleep now, if you want?”

“Sleep sounds good,” he agreed, suddenly exhausted to his bones. “Did you bring pyjamas, or…” 

She fixed him with a look, one eyebrow raised. “Think about what I do for a living,” she said. “A man hires me and a hotel room, all night. What are the odds that bag has a nightie in it?”

“Right, sorry,” he snorted, shaking his head. “My mistake.”

“You brought pyjamas, didn’t you?” she snickered. “Such a pessimist.”

“You’re an optimist, aren’t you?” he gave a mock-sneer, “I knew something had to be wrong with you.”

“I’d be nicer to the woman who just took your virginity,” she sniffed, her nose high in the air. They broke into laughter at the same moment. 

“Do you want to borrow the shirt?” he asked, solicitously. “I can survive with just pants.”

“There’s that pessimism again!” she chided. “Isaac, take a look at where you are: king-sized bed, five-star hotel, with a woman who – whether you believe it or not – is really into you right now naked in your bed. Do you want to put on clothes, or do you want to cuddle naked and see what happens when one of us wakes up?”

“You’re into me?” he asked, frowning. It didn’t compute. She was paid to sleep with him, and she was clearly a naturally positive person who was able to make her work enjoyable for herself. She’d done her job, now. They’d had sex, pretty good sex, especially for a first time. What was the point in lying now?

“I am,” she said. “So you have a choice to make. You can sit there all night, stark naked, trying to work out why I would say that if I didn’t mean it, or…”

“Or?”

“You could get under this lovely soft duvet with me,” she clambered beneath the covers as she said so, and sighed and wriggled to get comfortable, the blankets now – sadly – covering her breasts. “And be the little spoon.”

“Isn’t the man supposed to be the big spoon?” he asked, getting into bed beside her. The room wasn’t uncomfortably cold, but as the sweat cooled on his skin it did feel good to be under the covers.

“Gender is a social construct,” she stuck out her tongue. “With no meaning at all in the finer arts of cuddling. And I prefer to be the big spoon anyway. I’m a little claustrophobic.”

“Okay,” he gave a shy smile, the thought if sleeping warm and safe in her arms too enticing to pass up. He rolled over onto his other side, and waited as she turned out the lights, casting the room into blissful darkness.

She slung one arm over his waist, and pulled herself in, plastering her front to his back. He could feel her breasts pressed to his shoulder blades, her legs tangling with his. Her arm held him against her and her breath warmed the back of his neck. Gold felt safer there than he’d ever felt in his life. Lacey wouldn’t hurt him, and she wouldn’t let anyone else hurt him either. He felt himself slipping into sleep even as he struggled to stay awake, desperate for the night not to end, for her not to be gone. In the morning she would vanish, off to some small town somewhere far from here, anonymous and unreachable. He wanted to cherish every moment he had with her, but he couldn’t help his eyes falling closed, his body falling asleep easier now than it had in years.

The last thing he knew was the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, and the soft pressure of her body wrapped around his, lulling him to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

When his eyes blinked open again, Gold had no conception of how much time had passed. It was still dark, the room warm and still, but when he shifted onto his back he found the bed empty. His heart sank: she had snuck out while he was asleep, then. Or perhaps he had passed out at the bar the night before, and dreamed the whole encounter. 

The sound of the fan in the bathroom caught his attention, and he felt his whole body sag with relief when he noticed the light coming from beneath the door, and the sound of someone muttering on the other side. A glance at the clock told him it was two in the morning, but he’d taken later phone calls before now, or perhaps she was simply someone who processed her thoughts better out loud. Either way, he didn’t want to disturb her. He closed his eyes, and tried to relax back to sleep.

It was only a few minutes at most before he heard the fan and the light click off in the bathroom, the door open and close, and Lacey pad her way back to the bed. “Hey,” she whispered, as she settled back under the covers. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“I’m a light sleeper,” he replied. “A good gust of wind could wake me.”

“I’m still sorry,” she said, settling back against him, her arm across his chest and her head on his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

Gold tried to think of an answer that would make sense. He was still groggy with sleep, ecstatic to have her back in his arms and at the memory of what had happened before he slept, miserable at the thought of her leaving for good come morning.

“Processing,” he said, at last. She hummed against his shoulder.

“Big night,” she agreed. “A lot to think about. Any regrets?”

“God, no,” he said, assured at least of this answer. She grinned up at him, and he couldn’t help but lean down and kiss her smiling lips, desire for her swelling up at the renewed sensation of her warm, soft, naked body wrapped around him.

She kissed him deeper, her hands back again in his hair and urging him to lie on top of her, covering her body with his own. He was already stirring against her leg, and he knew she noticed when she pushed her thigh between his and ground against him. “Well someone’s awake,” she snickered against his lips. He groaned.

“Can’t help it,” he murmured, apologetic despite her repeated assurances earlier. “You’re so beautiful,” he slipped his lips from hers and trailed them across her cheek, “So perfect,” he continued, nipping at her jaw, working down her neck, kissing and lapping at her skin as she’d taught him earlier. She needed to be warmed up, he remembered, and at her soft moans of pleasure he believed he was achieving that. 

He tried to remember what had come next, the first time they’d done this. He fumbled down her body, his hand stroking up over her ribs until he found her breast. It was harder in the dark, with the duvet concealing everything beneath her shoulders from view. He palmed her breast and kissed her mouth, groaning with pleasure at the feel of her soft flesh filling his hand, kneading it softly as he felt the nipple harden.

“You’re a fast learner,” she praised, arching up and wriggling to get comfortable.

“I have a good teacher,” he returned, beaming at her. He didn’t remember the last time he’d smiled this much, much less meant it. She kissed him again, stroking his hair with one hand and teasing his tongue with hers. He was so distracted, he didn’t notice her other hand snaking between them until she had taken him firmly in hand. She gave a wicked little laugh when his mouth fell slack, his body tensing as his focus shifted from clumsily pleasing her to not coming off in her expert hand.

“How does that feel?” she asked, coyly. He moaned.

“Wonderful,” he sighed. “But I won’t… I won’t last.”

“You don’t have to,” she told him. “You get to choose what we do. Do you want me to keep doing this?” she asked, stroking him up and down in a slow rhythm that was gradually setting him on fire. “Or do you want my mouth?” she suggested, and his brain stammered to a halt at the visual image of her taking his cock between her perfect red lips, her expert tongue applied to the most sensitive parts of him. 

“Please,” he groaned, begging her for mercy. The effort not to climax then and there was almost painful, and much as he was sure wonders could be found from her hands or her mouth, it was heaven itself to be inside her properly. “Please I can’t hold out.”

“Okay, okay,” she eased her hand away from him, stroking his back as she sighed with relief. She kissed his lips, gently. “I just assumed… no one’s ever done that for you either, have they?”

“I have a hand of my own,” he reminded her. “But the other thing… no.”

“I could do that for you,” she said. “I’d like to do that for you.”

The offer was tempting; especially considering it was likely the only chance he would ever get. But it still didn’t hold a candle to the memory of what it was like to be inside her properly, to feel her clenching around him, to be able to kiss her while they were joined so deeply. If this was his last chance, he wanted that sensation of union again far more than any selfish pleasure.

“Could I… could I be inside you again?” he asked, the words a jumbled, embarrassed rush. She was so easy with these things, the words so natural on her lips, and he sounded like a schoolboy by comparison.

“Of course, sweetheart,” she said, cupping his cheek and looking deeply into his eyes. He was shaking with desire for her, with the effort not to disgrace himself or to say something foolish, or to simply burst into tears at the enormity of what was inside him. “Why don’t you touch me?” she suggested, “Get me all wet and ready for you, you’re so good at that.”

He swallowed, allowing himself for once to just believe her, and let her praise wash over him. He reached his hand between them as she removed hers to make room, and stroked his fingers over her soft folds. She was damp, but not as wet as she had been before. “Just the outside at first,” she told him, shuddering as his fingers found her clit without direction this time, “Gently.” 

Gold tried to follow instructions, stroking his fingers over her soft flesh the way he had her throat and her breasts. He dipped his finger down to her entrance, careful not to slip inside this time, and spread her wetness to ease his way. Her clit was growing slick, and he tried rubbing it a little firmer, encouraged when she gasped and her legs shook. He did it again, and felt the moisture pooling at her entrance, her body readying itself. He tried to establish a rhythm like that, settling his thumb over her clit like before while stroking her lips with his fingertips, circling her entrance before moving back up, over and over, until she was gasping.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice coming lower and hoarser than before. “What now?”

“Inside,” she pleaded. “I… will you last inside me?”

“I want to try,” he told her. “I’d like… could you climax like that?”

“Keep your thumb there and I could climax anyway,” she said, with a hoarse laugh, her neck arched back. “I left the condoms on the bedside table.” She looked up beside her, and Gold reached blindly up with his left hand, leaving off from teasing her to fumble for the packet. 

His hands were shaking when he managed to find the little box, and it was a wonder nothing fell as he grasped hold of it. He had to ease off of her and onto his side to have his hands free to open the little packet, but his fingers were trembling so badly that even that small skill was beyond him. Her calm, patient hands were there before he had to say anything, eyes bright in the dark as she took the little square from him, and deftly tore it open.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “Just a bit overwhelmed.”

She took one of his hands in his – the hand that had until a moment ago been between her legs – and tangled his sticky fingers with hers. “You have such wonderful hands,” she said, “Such long, talented fingers. I knew they would be the moment I saw them. I did hope I’d get a chance to find out.”

Gold blushed to his roots. “I used to spin as a child,” he told her, something he’d never told anyone ever before. “My… my aunts had an old spinning wheel in the attic. I would hide up there and spin all day long. I would spin and spin, and for a while I could forget.”

“Forget what?” she asked, drawn into the story, her eyes soft with concern. He was moments away from telling her the whole sordid story: the years trapped with his bastard father; the fall down the stairs; the hospital and the social workers; his maiden aunts’ cramped terraced house in the East End and the sight of his father’s broad back walking away down the street without a backward glance. It had rained that day, the air cold and sharp, and he’d stood on those steps watching until the very last moment, until Malcolm disappeared from view and he was all alone. Those days spent in the attic with the wheel had been his refuge, his sanctuary. His aunts had never disturbed him up there, and his father couldn’t return and taint the wheel as he had his books, his toys, or the music on the radio. 

It was too much. It was a flood, a torrent best kept at bay by the careful dam he’d built brick by brick with every turn of that old wheel. He frowned instead, and feigned confusion. “I guess it worked,” he shrugged. She let out a helpless little laugh, shaking her head.

“Well, I owe that spinning wheel a debt of gratitude,” she said, grinning. She brought his hand to her lips, and his throat went dry as she sucked his fingers into her mouth one by one, cleaning them of her juices. Her miraculous tongue swirled over his skin, lapping and sucking gently, making love to his hand. His mind went blank, those old nightmares banished in moments. The wheel had helped but Lacey was something else altogether. 

When she kissed him, he could taste her essence on her tongue. He wondered then if he should have taken her up on her earlier offer, and buried his face between her thighs as well as his hand. She was delicious, sweet and musky and deep, and the faint trace on her tongue had him craving more.

Her hands were as busy as her mouth, sliding the condom onto his straining length. She lay back, her hands in his hair – always in his hair, as if drawn by some powerful force, but he wasn’t complaining because her nails felt fantastic against his scalp – and brought him with her, bringing him to lie back on top of her, his legs parting hers. He braced himself over her, and her clever little hand wrapped gently back around his member as her knees braced on either side of her hips. “Ready?” she whispered. He nodded. Lacey grinned, and lined them up, her hand on his arse encouraging him to thrust inside of her. 

Knowing what to expect did nothing to mitigate the pleasure of having her wrapped around him, hot and wet and so very, very tight, her ankles crossing at his back and pulling him in, encouraging him to thrust deeper, as deep into her as he could go. 

He fought to hold onto his mind as he pulled back and thrust back inside, the friction sending him cross-eyed. He saw her hand try to slip between them, but he beat her to it, bracing his weight on his knees and his left arm, his right coming to the place above where they were joined. Her eyes widened as he placed his thumb over her clit, unable to do more than allow his thrusts to move his hand and create a haphazard rhythm. “Well done,” she panted, her hips bucking, driving him ever deeper. “Fast… ah! Fast learner!”

“Trying,” he grunted. “Wanna make you… happy.”

His eyes caught hers, and the intensity of those blue eyes wiped his mind of whatever was left. All he could see was blue, all he could feel was her tight channel around him and her soft body in his arms, breasts grazing his chest, breath harsh and sharp in his ear. “I know,” she panted, her breath hitching and voice catching on the word. “I… I know.”

He kissed her, because he was afraid that if he didn’t he would do something stupid, like tell her he loved her after only one night, or start to cry at the sheer intensity of emotion and sensation and release, so much stronger and more important than a simple climax. Time was fluid, unimportant, the whole world reduced to motion and sensation and Lacey, always Lacey, only Lacey.

“P-pinch it,” she gasped, startling him out of his reverie. “I’m so close… fuck… please!”

“Pinch what?” he asked. She struggled to find words.

“My clit,” she said. “Roll it be-between your fingers, please!”

He scrambled with his hand, his slick digits sliding out of position once or twice until he managed to get her clit between his thumb and forefinger. He rolled it as she had asked, and watched as she keened, writhed, and came apart around him. If he had thought being inside her at all had been wonderful, it was nothing compared to the sheer bliss of feeling her channel clench around his cock, pulling him in tight, gripping him like hot, wet velvet, an ecstatic cry leaving her lips. He couldn’t think or breathe and was coming with her, unable to hold on for a moment longer, jerking inside her once, twice, pleasure roaring through every nerve ending until he felt he would combust, his mind bursting into a shower of sparks. He groaned, low and long against her throat as she trembled in aftershock, his hand falling uselessly to his side as he continued to jerk inside her, spilling himself into the condom.

They lay like that for a long moment, Gold slumped bonelessly over Lacey’s shaking body, until he realised he was likely crushing her and tried to slide over to one side. His softened cock slipped out of her, severing their connection, and he felt a familiar wave of exhausted humiliation when he felt tears spilling from his eyes. He buried his face in the pillow, hoping to God that if she knew – and of course she did, how could she not? – that she wouldn’t say anything.

She removed the condom quickly, and he felt her shift from the bed and pad to the bathroom to dispose of it. When she returned, she rubbed his back gently, curling back around him like before and kissing his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” she told him, although he knew it wasn’t. “You’ve had a lot to cope with tonight, and you’ve been so wonderful, so brave and good for me. There are many different kinds of release, and they’re not all sexual. Let it out, you probably need it.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and tried to get himself under control. Between the unwanted memory of his unhappy childhood; the thought of Lacey leaving in less than five hours and disappearing into the dawn, never to be seen again; and the sudden release of all that tension from the past thirty-odd years in one evening, he was a wreck.

“Do you want to know something?” she asked. He nodded. He wanted to know anything she would tell him, wanted every word and thought and experience she would deign to share. “I’m really glad you hired me.”

Gold swallowed, and took a deep breath, grasping to believe her. “So am I,” he confessed. Her laughter was like music. 

He couldn’t keep his eyes open, lassitude sinking into his bones. He relaxed back into her warm arms, and tried not to think that this was the first time he’d cried in front of anyone since that day on the terrace steps.


	7. Chapter 7

When Gold awoke again, daylight was streaming in through the thin curtains, and his bed was empty again. A glance at the clock said it was nine am, two hours after their deadline. There was no fan noise, no light from the bathroom; Lacey’s handbag and her clothing was gone. She was gone.

He wished she’d woken him, just to say goodbye. He wished he’d had a chance to ask if he could see her again, to get the courage to ask her for her name, for any way to contact her again. He missed her already, an ache in his bones that felt deep and permanent.

He stretched out an arm, and felt something crunch underneath it. He scrambled to sit up, grasping at the note she’d left on the bed, swirls and loops of neat, feminine handwriting on hotel paper.

 

_Isaac,_

_I meant to wake you to say goodbye, and thank you for a genuinely wonderful evening. But you looked so peaceful, and I don’t think you’re someone who gets to be peaceful very often, so it felt selfish to disturb you just so I could say my piece. And I don’t want to be selfish with you, not when – despite everything, the money you paid and the service I was more than happy to perform without complaint – you were so wonderfully selfless with me. I’ve never had a client work so hard to make me happy and comfortable, just for my sake. Hell, I’ve never had anyone work that hard for me._

_You’re a really special person, Isaac. So here’s where I break two of my rules – my cardinal rules, so you know this is big – because you let me be selfish last night and I’m not done yet. You know I said I don’t leave personal details, anything that could link back to my real life? And how I said that ‘red’ means we stop whatever we’re doing dead, and don’t push it? Well, watch me._

_My personal phone number is 617-555-0133._

_Call me?_

_I hope you slept well. I hope I hear from you one day. You’re really one of a kind, sweetheart._

_B_

 

He stared at the paper in his hands, reading the words over and over again. She’d left her phone number. She wanted him to call her. She wanted to see him outside of work. The single initial at the end of the letter tantalised him, playing on his mind: her name truly wasn’t Lacey, then, although he supposed he’d have to call her to find out.

He reached for the hotel phone to dial right away, and then stopped. What would he say? She’d known him for only one night, and that a night when her profession forced her to hear him out. She was starting a whole new life, somewhere far away. She was young and beautiful, kind and bright and so very, very good. She deserved something amazing to happen to her. She deserved more than a man who, in the harsh light of day, was no more selfless or special than the phone in his hand.

Heavily, Gold set the phone back on its cradle. He dressed as quickly as he could, wanting to be gone from the room as quickly as possible. He had three hours before he was meeting Neal and Emma, but it would take some time to check out, to find a cab, and to get to the restaurant. Plenty of time to relive the night before over, and over, in every detail, committing everything to memory so he could bring it out and live it again every night for the rest of his life.

If he called her, it was only a matter of time before he would disappoint her, or hurt her, or push her away. She would leave. In his mind’s eye, he saw her walking down the steps of his home, dark hair swaying, eyes on the horizon, never glancing back. He felt himself stand on the threshold, and watch her walk away.

Better that she never got the chance. Better that he never took the risk.

He was a coward to his bones, but the sight of those ten little numbers made his heart pound and his palms sweat, anxiety surging through every pore and fibre of his body, and he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

His hands shook, but he smoothed the letter reverently, and tucked it into his inside breast pocket to keep it safe. When he got home, he would find a place to keep it where he could reread it often, where he could treasure it. It was all he had left of her, after all. Who knew? Maybe one day he’d even find the courage to call her.

The haze of anxiety lasted until he met with Neal and Emma, and was swept into one of his son’s customary tight hugs. “Hey, papa,” he said, “Long time no see.”

“Been busy,” Gold muttered. Neal pulled away, his eyes full of sympathy, and Emma smiled her customary tight smile and shook his hand. Always so formal, was Neal’s wife. He’d kissed her cheek at the wedding reception, but that was as close as he and his daughter-in-law had ever come to real affection. It didn’t mean they didn’t get along. In fact, Gold was inordinately fond of his prickly, taciturn daughter-in-law, who brightened and softened so much whenever she so much as looked at his son.

That was something they had in common. Neal’s presence, as always, soothed him in his soul. They sat down, ordering quickly, and then got down to business. Thankfully, the young couple had something they needed to discuss beyond the usual catching up and pleasantries.

With a little one on the way – a son, according to Neal, grinning ear-to-ear and proud as punch – they wanted to move out of the city and into a little house in the suburbs. There would be preparations to be made, legal documents to draw up, loans to co-sign… a whole bevy of paperwork to focus on that had nothing to do with tiny women with dark curls and bright blue eyes. And then, a grandson to meet: he would be a grandfather. He’d known it already, of course, but somehow the clarification that the child was a boy made the whole prospect feel real.

“You’ll be looking just outside Boston, then?” he asked, taking a sip of his coffee. “Somewhere close enough to commute?”

Neal looked to Emma, and they shared a secretive grin. Gold had the distinct feeling he was missing something. “Well,” Neal started. “Emma and I were talking about that.”

“And?” Gold demanded, anxiety rising. Did they have some absurd plan to move far away, to Minnesota or Phoenix, or wherever Emma considered herself to be from? Had they found a house in Florida by the beach that just called to them? The thought of Neal moving further than a few hours’ drive away filled him with deep, dark dread, but he swallowed hard and tried to contain it. Neal deserved better than a guilt-trip from his father when making such big decisions.

“Well, we started thinking about my career,” Emma said. “I mean, I’m up for a promotion to detective when I go back to work, which would be amazing, and I was all about taking that. But then…” She trailed off, her gaze dropping from his, and Gold was stunned to see her face crumple.

“Emma had a mentor, a senior detective who was helping her advance,” Neal supplied, taking her hand and squeezing hard. “But about a month ago, Cleo was killed in the line of duty.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Gold said, unsure what else to say.

“Thanks,” Emma said, shortly. “So yeah, I’m not really wild about advancing now with a kid on the way. Her daughter’s in high school and her whole life is fucked now because her mom was okay in the morning and came home in a body bag. And Cleo did mostly deskwork, she was supposed to be safe! I mean, what if I get shot? I love my job but…” she shook her head, getting control of herself. She was scared, and it threw Gold for a moment. He hadn’t known anything could faze the indomitable Emma Swan. “Anyway, since Neal and I both grew up as orphans we agreed that Boston might not be the best place for me if I wanna keep being a cop. Neither of us wants our kid to have to go through what we went through.”

“So we started looking around,” Neal continued, and Gold managed a small smile at how easily they continued one another’s thoughts. He was thankful that Neal had found someone who complimented him so well, someone who would never abandon him. They belonged together. Gold found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he could do the same. The paper in his inside pocket burned through his mind, but he swallowed hard and pushed the thought aside. Neal was still talking. “And you know, reporters can work anywhere, right? Like it’s not like I’m married to the Herald or anything, and Boston’s great but it’s just another city. And we found two things out pretty quick.”

“One of them being that the American jobs market is terrible at the moment?” Gold asked, dryly. Neal rolled his eyes.

“Actually, the opposite,” he said. “There’s a small town north of here looking for a Sheriff’s deputy, with a view to advancement. They even said that they’d be willing to wait until Emma’s had the baby and is ready to come back to work, they want her that much. That same small town recently had a huge scandal involving the local paper being in bed with local government. The editor in question got sacked, so it’d be a huge pay rise for me.”

The pieces were beginning to slot into place as Neal waggled his eyebrows. Gold’s eyes widened, a wild and impossible hope blooming in his chest.

“Son, are you… considering moving home?”

“Well, I do happen to have a pretty great real estate guy in the area,” he winked. “We were wondering if you’d be willing to part with that place on Maple, the one with the picket fence?”

Maple Street was just three blocks from Gold’s home. He would be able to walk ten minutes and be with his family. “It’s yours,” he said, instantly, the words falling over themselves in his rush to say them. Tears were pricking his eyes and his hands shook as he and Neal rose to their feet and embraced.

“Thank you, papa,” Neal said, and Gold could hear the joy in his voice even as he felt a lump in his throat: his son, willingly moving back home, within blocks of him in fact, and a grandson on the way. Even if he hadn’t woken earlier that morning with the most beautiful, wonderful woman he’d ever met lying in his arms, this would be the best day of his life.

Gold was stunned when Neal moved back, and he found himself hugging Emma as well. “Yeah, thanks,” she said, as he awkwardly stroked her back. She clung on tight, and he hugged her back. If she wanted family, then any family of Neal’s was his as well.

“You know you’re part of the reason we picked Storybrooke, right?” Neal checked as his wife finally pulled back. “I mean, we looked there pretty much first off. Well, second. Tallahassee’s crime rate is worse than Boston so that was out right away.”

“You and bloody Florida,” he groused, but he was grinning ear-to-ear.

“Neither of us ever had any grandparents around, or any extended family at all, for that matter.” Emma said, her low voice unexpectedly sincere. “The kid deserves all the family we can give him, and you’re what he’s got. He’s gonna need his grandpa.”

“Okay, I think we broke him,” Neal said, leaning in close to wave a hand over Gold’s face. “Papa, you okay?”

“Anything you need,” Gold said. “Anything, say it and it’s yours.”

“Well, we knew that,” Neal said, and hugged his father again. Gold held on tight, tears rolling openly down his face, and hoped to God that if this was a dream then he would never wake up.

The next few weeks were full of preparations for Neal and Emma’s move. Reality quickly set in as Gold was snowed under with paperwork, contractors and endless questions. Their apartment in Boston was up for rent renewal at the end of the month anyway, and the house Neal had referred to on Maple was standing empty, just waiting for an occupier. He’d tried several times to just gift the house to Neal and Emma as a belated wedding gift, but they wouldn’t hear of it. Still, he vastly undercharged them, and hoped to God that their youth and inexperience with the housing market wouldn’t tip them off to the fact it was all but unheard of to buy a four-bedroom home in an upscale neighbourhood and not require a mortgage.

He kept himself busy, organising every last detail. He wanted this to be perfect for his son, the best start his family could possibly get. And yet, every time he picked up a phone to call a decorator or the bank, he thought for a moment that he would call Lacey instead. Every night, he closed his eyes and smelled the cherry scent of her hair and heard her low, sweet voice, and found release to thoughts of a woman whose real name he didn’t even know.

She became a dream, an angel of light and mercy, and were it not for her letter he would believe her a figment of his imagination. It was better that than the prescient image of her leaving and never coming back. It was better to have happy dreams of her than a miserable reality. He had learned that the hard way.

But as he spent more and more time with his son and daughter-in-law, Gold started to run out of reasons not to call her. She wanted him to – she’d said as much in her letter – and he had the ability to do so. With a grandchild on the way and his son installed three streets away, the risk of being left isolated and miserable was vastly reduced. As the days passed, the urge to call her increased more and more, and yet every time he reached for the phone he couldn’t think at all what to say.

What did one say to an escort who had left a phone number and an initial, and nothing else? What was there to say to the woman he’d fallen in love with in a single evening, the only woman he’d ever been intimate with, that wouldn’t shatter the perfect memory of the best night of his life?

One night, Gold spent an hour just staring at the phone in his hand, trying to get up the courage to dial the numbers and just see what happened. His heart was pounding, his stomach sick, but the thought of not seeing her ever again was just as terrible as the thought of the damage she could do if he called her.

“Papa?” Neal had stayed the night, having spent the day helping decorate his new home a few streets away. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, Bae,” Gold muttered, and Neal smiled at the old nickname. “I’m fine.”

“Who’re you trying to call?” Neal asked, ignoring his brush-off.

“No one.”

“Is it a girl?” Neal teased, and Gold winced. “Oh shit it is. Damn, way to get back on the horse, papa!”

“It’s none of your concern,” Gold snapped. Neal rolled his eyes.

“You’re obsessing,” he said. “If you have her number she wants you to call.”

“It’s not that simple,” Gold replied. “I… you’re coming home. You have Emma and a child on the way and someone new could mess that up.”

“Papa, when you saw me in the hospital that night, did you think about all the many ways I would mess up your life?” Neal asked, bluntly. Gold didn’t even have to consider the question.

“Of course not.”

“Did you foresee the midnight calls from jail cells when I got caught drinking and stealing shit?” Neal continued, unabated, “Or the time I broke the window in the front room with a tennis ball, or all the food bills when I had a growth spurt and ate literally everything in the fridge, or –“

“No, no of course not!” Gold cut him off, “I thought that you were alone and needed someone as much as I did.”

“Of course you did,” Neal said, with a smug smile. “Because you wanted a family. You’re a pack animal, papa, you need people around. I’m sorry I left you alone all these years. The moment I met Mila I knew I should have stayed close to home, I shouldn’t have-“

“Bae, Mila wasn’t your fault,” Gold assured him, quickly. “You have to live your life. My bad choices are my own.”

“I should have said something earlier,” Neal said, cutting him off. “I knew she was bad news, but I figured you were an adult and could make your own mistakes. I was too busy working and getting married, and by the time I realised how badly I’d fucked up it was too late.”

“Bae-“

“No, I should have said this months ago,” Neal continued, sitting down on the sofa beside him and covering Gold’s hand with his own. “I’m sorry, papa. I’m sorry you ended up in such a bad place that you thought you had to settle for that… that…”

“Heinous bitch?” Gold suggested, his lips quirking at the memory of Lacey’s tirade. Neal grinned, and nodded.

“That works,” he agreed. “Listen, you deserve to be as happy with someone as I am with Emma, papa. Just because you struck out last time doesn’t mean whoever it is whose number you have memorised will be the same.”

“She isn’t,” Gold said. “She’s incredible.”

“Then call her.”

“Go to bed, Bae,” he said, again. “Before I have to confiscate all the chocolate ice cream again like when you were twelve.”

“Papa I’m twenty-five and married, I can buy my own!”

“One word from me and the general store doesn’t stock chocolate ice cream ever again,” he threatened. “I control their lease. So go get some sleep and stop fussing over an old man.”

“Fine,” Neal sighed, and hugged him tight in his chair before heading for the door. “Call her, old man!”

Gold didn’t bother responding. The footsteps on the stairs, the same footsteps he’d used to hear every night around this time, made his stomach clench. Neal was right. He missed having someone in the house. He missed having someone he could call his. But he could hardly place the weight of that desire on a woman he’d paid for one night of company, whose forename he didn’t even know.

Slowly, the house on Maple became full of Neal and Emma’s things, and Gold began to spend his evenings and weekends directing decorators and supervising the installation of various electronics and appliances. The letter remained safe and sound, pressed between the pages of his favourite book beside his bed. The number was burned into his brain, but still every night he found a reason not to use it.

That wasn’t the only change to come to Storybrooke that month. Mayor Mills, in a desperate attempt to repair her reputation after the Mirror scandal, had poured some money into the public purse and found a way to re-open the library under the clock tower on Main Street. The project had been in the pipeline for months, apparently, but had passed even Gold by until Regina began trumpeting it every chance she got.

The morning the library reopened, he saw that the slats had disappeared from the windows and the door was open to visitors. He was on his way to open the shop, but he felt he could spare ten minutes to look inside, and find out what poor long-suffering citizen had been pressganged into running the place. Regina wielded at least as much power in town as he did, and she was far less reticent about using it.

“Hello?” he called, to the empty main room. A bag he thought he recognised rested on the counter, although he couldn’t quite place it. “Is anyone home?” he looked around, glancing out of the window into the street. The place had only just opened, and the librarian was already skiving, it seemed.

A crashing sound – porcelain on cheap linoleum – startled him, and he spun around to face whoever was behind him. Lacey stood in the doorway to the little office, a broken teacup at her feet where she’d dropped it, her mouth agape.

“Isaac?” she gasped. He stared, his eyes like saucers. She was here. The little town up north, the library re-opening… it was Storybrooke. She had moved here. She worked here. She was here. “What are you doing here?”

“I… live here,” he said, shaking his head to clear it, certain he had drifted off behind the counter in the shop or at the breakfast table. “I mean… not in the library, of course, but in town. I run the shop down the street.”

“I knew you lived in Maine but… you never said… I… you never called,” she said. It was strange to hear her at a loss for words, her usual composure lost. The rambling was adorable.

“I know,” he said. “I know I… I’m sorry.”

“I wanted you to call,” she accused, “And – oh shit!” she finally noticed the cup she had dropped, and crouched to collect it, shaking the cooling tea from the now-empty china. “It’s chipped.”

He crossed the distance between them, unable to bear the empty space now she was so close. He’d managed to convince himself, in the intervening weeks, that what he had thought was love was just lust, infatuation. The sight of her proved that for the lie it was. He was as in love with her now, swearing over her chipped teacup and lost for words, accusing and startled, as he had been when she was self-assured and soothing, clad only in lingerie and seducing him out of his anxiety.

He took the cup from her hands gently, and examined it. “I can fix this,” he offered. “If we can find the extra piece. I run the antiques store down the street, it’d be the least I could do.”

“It’s just a cup,” she shrugged. This close, he could see the hurt in her eyes. He set the cup gently on the counter, and gave her his full attention. He hoped she would yell: his cowardice deserved it. “I… I’m sorry,” she sighed, instead, shaking her head. “Of course you didn’t call. Who would want to date a prostitute? It was pathetic and clingy and inappropriate and-“

“I wanted to call,” he cut her off, “I really did. You’re the least pathetic person I’ve ever met and it was so brave, reaching out like that. I wanted to call you. But… you saw what a mess I was that night. That’s me at my very best. Why would you want that?”

“I like you,” she insisted.

“You don’t know me,” he sighed. “And I don’t know you. What if… what if we tried and it turned out we didn’t fit?”

“I do know you, Isaac. I know you’re kind and sweet, and you’re honest, and… I thought we might have shared something that night. I was more myself with you than I think I had been in years, maybe. But I get it if that was enough for you, I mean, that’s how it’s supposed to work and I can’t fault you for that. I just… I like you. I thought you might like me too, a little. And it hurt that you didn’t call.”

“Of course I like you,” he breathed. “After my son, you were the best thing that ever happened to me! I don’t care how we met or what you did to get through grad school, you’re beautiful and so kind and clever and good and…” he stopped himself, pulling himself together before he said something he’d regret. She was smiling, her lip caught between her teeth. “But Lacey, I-“

“My name’s not Lacey,” she cut him off, her eyes dancing. “You know it isn’t.”

“Your name begins with a B,” he said. “That’s all I know.”

Her hand slipped into his, and he stroked the back with his thumb. “Belle,” she said. “My name is Belle.”

“Belle,” he said, testing it out. It suited her far better than Lacey ever had: simple, classic, beautiful, and a little old-world. It was a name for a girl in a story. “Belle,” he said again, “I wanted to call you every day. I just… I panicked. And I didn’t know what to say.”

“You’re here now,” she replied. “Some weird twist of fate, that.”

“In my defence, things have been hectic since we last met.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he couldn’t keep from grinning, his eyes on their joined hands. “I told you I was meeting my son, the morning after? Well, apparently it was to tell me that he got a job up here, too, and they wanted to buy one of my properties to make a home. He’s moved home. They’re… they’re raising their family here.” He still couldn’t quite believe the words as he said them. Belle’s eyes lit up.

“Oh, Isaac that’s wonderful,” she said, and he could tell she really meant it. “You must be ecstatic.”

“I don’t think I’ve stopped smiling since my trip to Boston,” he admitted, then, shyly, he looked up from their joined hands and met her eyes. “And not just because of Neal.”

“Oh?” she bit her lip, and he wanted to bite it for her.

“Mm-hmm,” he nodded. “I met an amazing woman down there, you know.”

“And did you, by any chance, make that woman very happy only to panic and refuse to call her?”

“It’s a pattern,” he sighed. “It’s what I do. I panic, and make a bad decision, and suddenly everything’s on fire.”

“We’ll have to work on that,” she murmured, and his heart felt a hundred times lighter at the word ‘we’. “Listen, I don’t know anyone here, I’m all alone. But I hear that the diner down the street makes an excellent cheeseburger. Would you… like to try it sometime?”

“I would like that,” he said, clinging to her hand for dear life, hoping his voice didn’t wobble on the words. He was so happy he thought he could die then and there. She smiled, that dimple he adored so much appearing in her cheek. He leaned in to kiss it, and then – since he was already there – kissed her mouth as well, unsurprised when her hands wove into his hair and held him close, kissing him breathless as his free hand found her waist.

They parted for breath after long moments, and she was beaming, her forehead rested to his. “Tonight,” she said, “Burgers tonight?”

“Yes,” he agreed, unable to think of a single better use for his evening.

“And then… wasn’t there a lesson I was going to give you?” she grinned, her eyes sparkling. He thought back for a moment, trying to remember what she was referring to and drawing a shameful blank. “I think you said ‘yellow’,” she prompted, “Which means we can revisit. I’d very much like to see if that tongue of yours is as talented as your fingers.”

His whole head flushed bright red, and he had a vivid sensory memory of kissing her with her own taste in her mouth, sweetness and musk. Of wondering what it would be like to taste that first hand, to make her scream and thrash with his head between her smooth thighs.

“Tonight,” she whispered. “Red, yellow or green?”

“Green,” he replied, fervently. She giggled, and kissed him again, and again, and again.


End file.
